Innumerable Phantoms
by ifyourstillfreestartrunning
Summary: *Resubmitted* A strange concoction leaves a very sleep deprived Christine to a rather intresting situation with everybody's favorite Phantom...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

A/N:

Well this has been resubmitted.. hope you enjoy it this time guys!

Hello fellow Phanatics. Just to clarify, this is not a crack fic. I promise to finish this one ;)

Now, I thoroughly suggest you approach this questionable work of fiction with an open mind. It is by no means fluffy in the first few chapters and heart breaks are an inevitability when Erik and Christine are involved I'm a sad to say. But please bear with my narcissistic ramblings and enjoy the Phantastical power of Erik and his under shorts of evil. DUN DUN DUUNNNN.

Disclaimer: I do not own Erik. A fact I curse the gods for at least twenty times a day. I blame Loki, he looks sneaky.

+++

"Are you sure you're quite all right, Christine?" Meg Giry asked her friend mildly, her pale blue eyes filled with concern.

Christine Daae set her cup down on the little round table with more force than necessary, sending tea sloshing over the rim. Her slightly bloodshot eyes narrowed as she looked back at Meg. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine. Never better. Why do you ask? I mean, what would even make you ask a question like that, Meg? I simply can't imagine why—"She jumped slightly when Meg put a hand on her wrist, and more tea splashed into the saucer.

"Well, two hours of sleep a night for the last three weeks doesn't quite sound like _enough_ to me, somehow," said Meg. "I tried to get by on that amount once, when mother kept us up practising that scene with the flying horse every night. Admitted we did grasp the steps but after staying awake for a whole week straight, I believe I saw the horse actually take flight and mother had put me to bed for nearly two days. I do hope you haven't seen anything like that."

"No," Murmured Christine. "I haven't seen anything of the sort. What I have seen for three weeks solid is Eric _sodding _Desslar." Night after night spent in his ridiculously expensively decorated music room in the depths of the theatre looking down his oh-so-aristocratic nose at her and proclaiming how every single note was missed, pitch offset and lyric mispronounced. She pouted into her tea like a petulant child. His normally melodic voice, tainted by frustration and impatience spun round her head. How dare he say she was "not yet up to acceptable standards"? How on earth could he expect her to be if he denied her sleep night after night until the small hours of the morning? "I swear to you Meg, if I hear once more , just _once_, that I will never achieve anything when singing like a street urchin, then the next opera is going right up his aristocratic arse!"

"It's a very nice arse, though, isn't it?" Meg stated, as if gathering Christine's opinion on the blue willow pattern on the teacups.

"I hadn't noticed!" snapped Christine. She decidedly had, every single time she had been called into his dark underground lair since she'd unexpectedly received the lead role in _Hannibal._  
.

She sighed dejectedly and collapsed onto the table, resting her head. "I suppose I should've expected it," she mumbled to herself.

Meg had become momentarily distracted by a young stagehand and hadn't heard Christine.

She had to snap a few times to regain the young blondes attention.

"Sorry, Why?" asked Meg.

Christine raised her head a millimetre or so. "Because he's an evil impulsive murderer who hid his way out of trouble, extorts money from the opera managers, this probably takes a huge chunk out of our wages by the way, and he won't let me sleep. I know he acts all reformed but he's still spending all of his time hatching evil plots to take over the world and strangle puppies. I can tell, Meg. It's got something to do with those trousers he wears… they're tucked just so and they're really tight in back, I notice it every single time he calls me into that evil dungeon-y lair thing he has..."

"What?" asked Meg. "The Opera Ghost in tight trousers?" It had taken Meg long enough to believe the infamous ghost existed, let alone that he was Christine's instructor. But now that she did Meg had very unfortunately jumped on the team Eric wagon. She had even held a short conversation with him demanding to know where her friend disappeared to every night.

Christine rubbed her face with her hands. "Don't pay any attention to me. I think I'm delirious."

"You know," Meg said thoughtfully, "whenever I have trouble sleeping nowadays, I'll have a nice cup of chamomile tea."

"I've tried that."

"Or a relaxing hot bath with lavender oil, and some soothing music."

"I've tried that."

"Or a nice, long, shall we say escapade with Louis. Something that lasts about five and a half hours. I never have any trouble falling asleep then."

"I'm not going to try _that_!"

"I didn't mean with Louis," said Meg. "But there are an awful lot of other men out there. Your Vicomte for one"

"_No_," said Christine. "I have told you time and again that Raoul and I are no more than friends."

She slumped back on the table, growling something below her breath about the utter unfairness of life. Suddenly her head jerked up and a strange smile came across her pale face.

" Meg," She began, the wheedling in her tone evident. "remember that strange concoction your mother used to give us when we had two shows in one night?

"I wouldn't recommend that dear, do you remember when Celine took a dose to many and practically started bouncing off the walls?" said Meg. "Anyway it's just concentrated amounts of caffeine mixed with methylenedioxymethamphetamine."

"Sounds perfect," said Christine. "Do you have it?"

"Err… yes," said Meg, taking a small vial out of her pocket, "but I really don't recommend—"

"Give. Me. Now—" said Christine, but she broke off when a hand slammed down a sheaf of papers on the table about one inch from her nose.

"Who is that?" asked Christine without moving. "Oh, why am I even bothering to ask? I already know! It's—"

"The Sandman, come to tell you that bed time is over," A sharp voice pulled both girls to their feet, standing attentively waiting for orders. Madame Giry eyed the girls with distaste. Christine knew that if there was one thing she simply could not stand it was indulgence, and the two young dancers were thoroughly indulging in their Sunday afternoon off.

"Up, Marguerite. You've yet to show me a performance in which you don't yawn half way through the high C, which I suppose shouldn't surprise me by now."

Meg stood and shooting an apologetic look at Christine, scarpered for the door.

"And Miss Daae," She continued, turning her head towards her young charge, "Do you not have a lesson?"

Christine pouted again, desperate to slump back to the table and sleep for roughly a week.

"Yes Madame." She murmured wearily.

"Then what are you waiting for?" The stick clumped against the ground and caused Christine to jump. "I suggest you move quickly, teachers do not like to be kept waiting."

Christine caught the strange tone in her voice and looked up quickly to catch her Ballet Mistresses eye. There was an indefinable emotion there, just for a second, burning through the austere mahogany orbs. But then it dissolved and Christine looked away. The look might have been admiration, but it was laced with something else, some terrible sadness that weighed on her chest like a boulder as she hurried through the rabbit warren of passages and corridors to reach her quiet dressing room.

She trudged into the room, slamming the door and locking it behind her, then stood scowling at the mirror. A faint chuckle met her ears, making her scowl more pronounced. Christine folded her arms over her chest.

"Are you going to let me in then?" She inquired.

Silence hung in the air for a few moments before the tell tale click of the mirror receding back into the wall, revealing the dark tunnel. Christine ignored the gloved hand extended towards her from the darkness and stalked forwards, her arms folded about her chest like a child, nose in the air. Promptly she bumped into a wall and ended up sprawled in a pile of petticoats and skirts on the cold floor. The man above her chuckled yet again his hand softly grasping her upper arm and helping her back to her feet.

"Your grace and poise never fail to amaze me child." His melodic voice echoing around the confined space.

Despite the darkness she sent him a look so dark it could kill a tiger.

Eric chuckled lightly, the half of his face uncovered by the mask of pure white porcelain breaking into a wide grin. The lines of his body became slowly clearer to her as her eyes adjusted.

He took her palm in his own and led her slowly through the tunnel. Dark musings filled her mind, if he tried to bully her this time she would slap the handsome side of his face into next week and strangle him with a string from his beloved organ and then make him sing an entire opera at four in the morning.

Within about ten minutes they reached the lake. _Finally _Christine thought grumpily to herself _chance for a nap._ But it seemed she had only just closed her eyes when _he _was murmuring her name. She resisted the unlady like urge to bite at his hand and pulled herself unceremoniously to her feet.

The cavernous room flickered with candle light, spilling across the floor and the heavy mahogany furniture. But Christine payed more attention to the beckoning swan bed in the corner. She groaned and imagined a few hours buried in its warm depths sleeping off her brutal headache and fuzzy vision. But no, the key cover being drawn back snapped her attention to the tall man at her side.

"Shall we get on then? Or would you like a few moments to sort out, well, that." He lifted an arm to flick a lock of her hair.

Christine's hand shot up to her head, she groaned when she felt the huge knot that had formed during her nap. Torn between the desire to look presentable and the urge to get the lesson over and done with so she could sleep. In the end sleep won out so she plodded her way to the curve of the piano and awaited her teacher.

In her heart of hearts, Christine had to admit that she did understand why he practised her day in day out. The man standing over her and impatiently drumming his fingers on the polished piano top was talented to a degree that oughtn't to be allowed, should be prohibited by law, and definitely should be enforced by a special team of Gendarmes whose only job was to follow Erik around and watch for infractions that would lead to imprisonment with _no_ musical interactions of any kind. The way he played, the way he sang was sinfully good. Not only his voice, but the way he moved was beyond words. Damn him. If she had not seen him in action she would be surprised at the ease with which he negotiated the secret passages and rafters of the theatre.

Her head felt light and airy again as he turned around to pick up his sheets, which was either due to her tiredness or the remarkably well-tailored trousers, she could never decide which (_maybe two hours of sleep a night really aren't enough.._ she thought blearily.)

The mask caught her eye as he turned back to face the keys, it was so white under his neatly groomed mop of hair and olive skin. It fascinated her, the frozen expression lining the harsh cheek bones and deep eye socket. More than once now she had wanted just to reach out and run her fingers along it. But he would never allow it. She huffed, he never let her do anything.

Christine tried to forget that first time she had pulled his mask away, the painful horrors which lay beneath, the thin, translucent skin, the twisted upper lip, the scars that twisted away around his eyes. Initially she had been terrified, not by the face itself but by the horror it told of, what sort of life had this man known? Since then her angel had been so distant with her, although now she found once she had gotten over the first shock, it added enormously to Erik's appeal. A sort of mystique, if she was to be honest with herself—and it seemed rather hard to be anything else when in the midst of such severe sleep deprivation—there certainly was a great deal of appeal.

The Opera Ghost, by reputation alone, had a way of turning any female under the age of approximately a hundred and fifty into a melted puddle of goo. As Christine had witnessed innumerable times in late night dormitory discussions between her and the other dancers. They whispered his name with fear and excitement It wasn't necessarily easy to say why that appeal was so devastating; at least, Christine could never quite figure it out, because he wasn't handsome in the way that other men were handsome. He was thin, almost too thin, and his hands and feet always looked too large and lanky for his slender frame (_although that did tend to make one wonder if those stories whispered in the girls' dormitory at three in the morning about boys with big hands were true,_ thought Christine. _Oh dear. I wonder if I should try some sort of drug?__I've heard that __opium__is good. Wait, isn't that an antipsychotic medication? On the other__hand, that__might be just what I need…_) His hair was still a deep ebony black, delicately sculpted without a hair out of place. _Nobody_ had hair like that, or if anybody did, it ought to be a girl, (_because that__colour's__gorgeous, not right for a boy at all, and I thought it the first time I ever saw him. _His eyebrows were too dark in his pale face, his eyelashes were too long, his eyes were too big and too silver-green, and his face was altogether too pretty. He wasn't handsome; he was _beautiful_, and men were absolutely, positively, not supposed to be beautiful. It was just too unsettling.

Christine raised her head and glared at Erik. "Well, let's begin before I fall asleep."

Something in her voice had finally started to pull at his short temper.

Erik bent down to shove his face disturbingly close to hers. "Miss Daae, correct me if I'm wrong but did you not tell me not so long ago that you would do _anything_ to become a diva? Did you not say that your life revolved around your music and you would give it every moment you had?"

"I've sung the entire Opera at least ten times!" said Christine hotly. "You keep finding fault with every little detail. Everyone else thinks my voice is fine."

"Well, 'everyone else', whoever they may be, has no sense of artistic taste," said Erik. "If you've been showing them to those idiotic girls in the ballet, for instance, they've likely told you that they're the epitome of class because they do not know talent. But a certainly sensitivity to the difference between high art and just another voice in the crowd is my job, Miss Daae." He looked at her keenly. "And the aria in act three is still decidedly below par. Wouldn't you agree?"

Christine looked away. Erik was right, and she knew it, and she didn't want _him_ to see that she knew it, even though she was afraid that he already had. Her rise in the musical art world had been meteoric in the last four months, ever since her performance in _Hannibal _it had been all the way up. Right at the beginning of her stay at the opera house, when she was only nine years old, Christine had spent every moment alone in song. When she danced, when she prayed, at one point she began to sing in her sleep. At this young age all she knew was an old folk law her father had taught her as a young child.

_I walk alone and wander here,__  
__Looking for my friend.___

_I walk alone and wander here,__  
__Looking for my friend.___

_Look, I meet him here,__  
__He, who my heart holds so dear.___

_Say if you will dance with me,__  
__As you did before?_

__After the horrible event of her father's death she had gone to Paris, enrolled in the ballet school, and learned everything they could teach her, soaking up knowledge like a sponge, but she always came back to that same song.

As the next months had gone by, she had begun to realize that singing wasn't enough. She had tossed and turned in bed, retreated into herself completely and barely talked to the other girls anymore. She'd spent the entirety of that cold winter alone and singing to herself between sobs.

He had visited her first one night, so long ago it seemed, nearly eight years, under the guise of the angel of music. Young Christine has been delighted to have this strange new friend to confide in and to teach her, he made her feel good again. He did not give compliments freely but with just a word or an approving silence would trigger a compulsive smile that she could not for the life of her get rid of. She couldn't possibly have imagined that her beloved angel and the infamous Phantom were one in the same.

His years of tutoring had been by no means simple, she would toil hour after hour on the stage as a chorus girl then come back to her little chapel and be expected to perform at maximum quality until the lesson had finished. But yet he never showed himself to his protégé, she had begged him many a time, pushing his short patience to the limit with her thirst for knowledge. But he never caved in and in time, she learned not to ask.

Then came that fated day, the new managers, Carlotta's temper tantrum and resignation (or over exaggerated sulk) from the lead and Christine's unexpected promotion. Oh she had no doubt who was behind this particular event, after all, what the phantom wanted, the phantom got. She found herself that night on the stage singing from the heart in front of the crowd, she had never felt safer, more at home or, strangely, more loved at any time in her existence. She had been an instant sensation, and so had the opera house.

Raoul De Chagny had unexpectedly attended that night as well. She had known him as a child, their parents had been reasonably close and they had spent a summer on the beach in Sweden. Obviously at the time the older, much more privileged boy had seemed impossible to resist and she had been shamelessly infatuated with him. He had visited her that night in her dressing room, interrupting her teachings from the angel, but things had always been awkward between them. They'd walked along the river or visited the market or even his chateaux together once or twice, they'd sat in her dressing room and talked a few times, but they had never been able to recapture what Christine had once thought was between them. When she saw Raoul's face looking at her when she sang, he had been bored, Christine realized that it was because there had never really been anything between them at all. Raoul had known what Christine meant by what she'd done, and from that day on, things were over between them, once and for all.

She blinked. Erik's voice was breaking in on her thoughts. _And it's a voice that you just can't ignore. Sort of dark and rich and creamy… like hot chocolate…__mmm__…. I'm rather hungry, when was the last time I ate anything? Or is it more like a chocolate-covered cherry? 'Cherry' and 'Erik Destler' in the same sentence, I really don't think so…_

"And is Monday, or is it not, the twenty-fourth of May?" he asked. "And _still_ no improvement?"

"Melted chocolate, the really dark kind, that's it," said Christine, without thinking.

Erik's eyebrows shot up even further, until Christine was sure that they were going to hit his hairline with its perfectly shaped widow's peak. "Child, I do attempt to make allowances for the artistic temperament, but you're trying my patience severely."

Christine took a deep breath and stood up straight. "Look, Erik, you'll get what you want, and so will the audience." She took a folder from the portfolio at the side of the table. "As a matter of fact, I do happen to have other things to be attending to. And since I'm here, I may as well show you what I have practised so we can get this done and I won't to take up any more of your oh-so-valuable time."

"Fine," said Erik. "We might as well get this over with." He sat on the piano stool and leaned forward, waiting.

She began with the aria she had been practising, a short but tricky piece that she had had such great difficulty in mastering.

He moved his hands with incredible elegance as he watched her, and that was part of it too, Christine decided, because Erik _always_ moved that way. Even his most mundane actions were graceful. _I'll bet when he's undresses and unbuckles his belt, that's graceful as well, except that Phantoms wouldn't undress, would they… so I suppose he'd have to be unbuckling his belt to do something else… oh, I really do need to get some sleep. Perhaps if I hit myself over the head with a hammer repeatedly, that would work…_

"Not good enough," Erik said bluntly, cutting her off mid note.

"What!" Christine exclaimed. She'd been keeping her temper for two weeks running, but she could tell that it was about to break through now. "That's what you've been saying every single time! Would you mind telling me exactly what you mean, oh phantom?"

"Well, the first verse makes you sound vaguely like a wailing child, to begin with. The chorus sounds soppy and fatuous. And on top of it all, you've forgotten the eighth line _again_," said Erik.

"Dammit," mumbled Christine.

"Yes, well, it is a bit of a problem," Erik said testily.

"I can do that again. I can do it right now. See? See me doing it right now? Oh! What are you doing, Erik?"

Erik took her hand firmly in his and looked her straight in the eye. She tried to remember if he'd ever actually touched her before in all the time she'd ever known him, since she was eleven years old and he was twenty-five. She didn't think so. She'd always been sure that he would feel icy cold, but his fingers seemed to burn hers; it was the last thing she'd expected. _I wonder if his skin feels that hot all over? His arms… his neck… his face… what about his lips?_ Too late, Christine realized that she was staring at him as if hypnotized; he was saying something, and she hadn't heard a word of it.

"You've got the talent, Miss Daae; that's not the question," said Erik. She could not help but savour the way her name rolled of his tongue. _No Christine, naughty!_ "I've always known it. I've always seen it, when you were a young child, barely even nine, you used to come to the roof every night and sing something, in Swedish. I never asked you what it meant, I could never get the cour- I mean, well never mind. You used to sit in the Cradle of Apollo's lyre and look out over Paris, and your hair would blow in the wind and get in your mouth, but you never noticed because you were so intent on singing your charming little folk song—"

"What? I didn't know anyone saw me do that." Christine felt badly confused, and had a sudden, irrational desire to crawl under the table at knowing that someone had seen her in her most intimate moments, at her very weakest.

"Never mind," muttered Erik. "The point is, it's not a question of talent. It's that there's something missing in your song, at least when it comes to this particular Opera."

"How can you say—" Christine began.

"Because you know it's true," said Erik, his tone becoming increasingly impatient. "You need something that you haven't got yet. Some sort of maturity. I can't put my finger on it. But you've got to branch out, you've got to experience more than sheltered life under the thumb of your stern ballet mistress. You _know_ it. There's something… I'm not at all sure what… some sort of experience that you need to have. Some sort of.. Passion that is missing from your work."

He was looking at her altogether too keenly, Christine decided.

"That's it!" Christine pushed back from the piano and tried to walk away her. Erik's hand on her arm restrained her. He examined her face. Could there be a trace of concern in his eyes? Christine wondered. _Now I know I really am delirious!_

"Child, when was the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"What do you care?" she snapped. "And I am not a child. I am seventeen years of age. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going home, and I'm going to sleep for a week. The sooner these are done, the sooner our little forced association will be over. Then we'll never have to see each other again as long as we live, which I'm sure will be the happiest possible state of affairs for both of us!"

Erik 's face hardened instantly into a beautiful mask of indifference, and Christine decided that she'd _certainly_ imagined that trace of concern.

"That," he said in measured tones, "would be perfectly delightful, I assure you."

"Fine."

Christines hands were clenched so tightly into fists that she was nearly shattering the little vial still clutched between her fingers. She examined it for a moment, shrugged and downed it in one defiant gulp. Then she strode out of the lair into the dark tunnels, ignoring Erik's cries for her to return and not to be so foolish.

The darkness in the tunnels was absolute. Christine blinked at it trying desperately to see her way as Erik could, wishing that she'd thought to bring a lantern. She didn't feel the least bit more awake, either. Well, maybe the vial didn't work instantly. Her stomach rumbled loudly as she began to in the opposite direction to Erik, reminding her that she wasn't at all sure when her last meal had been.

"For crying out loud, Child, I don't want you dying on me," said Erik, his voice materialising out of the dark. "Then you'll never get that opera done. How about some dinner?"

"Erik, I thought I told you that I didn't want to see you again!" said Christine between clenched teeth.

Nothing answered her but the faint sound of dripping.

_Hmm, strange. He's probably just trying to scare me again._

Christine breathed more freely. However, the food didn't sound like a bad idea at all.

_Surely they serve food down here somewhere right?_

She saw a lighted room up ahead and made a beeline for it, sure enough a small restaurant was inside.

The waiter was not yet present so she seated herself and started flicking through the menu.

"May I take your order?" drawled a familiar voice. Christine gave a violent start. She looked up to see Erik looking back at her in a chef's hat. He pushed it back from his forehead and lazily closed one eye in a wink. She gave a shriek and threw the menu up in the air, turning and pushing her way out of restaurant, passed the door and ran smack bang into Erik, who nimbly plucked the menu from the air and handed it to her.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

The dark, cold tunnel looked perfectly normal. Christine slowed down to a brisk walk, still whipping her head frantically from side to side at intervals. For the sake of her continued sanity, she finally decided that it was better to believe that she'd imagined the entire thing. It _could_ have only happened because she hadn't had a decent meal in so long, as Meg would doubtless have been more than happy to tell her, Christine thought sourly.

If she got lost in the tunnels and died of starvation, she would never have to see Erik and his ridiculously tight trousers again. (_but, wait, if I never see him again, then how am I ever going to figure out exactly how his tailor manages to cut his shirts so that they somehow fit over his really broad shoulders and then taper down to his really slender waist, and then snuggle perfectly into the remarkably tight front of those extraordinarily evil trousers… Christine! Stop it!_)

Christine wandered further into the maze of tunnels, thankful that had finally stopped following her, she slumped down against a wall and rested for a moment.

"My, my," drawled a familiar voice. "Resting already? However do you expect to achieve your dream if you cannot walk for five minutes without needing a nap?"

"Gah!" She cried and jumped to her feet, and ran out of the shop and down the street as fast as her legs would carry her.

_Dear lord, I need medical help._

Helpfully at that moment a doctor's office appeared in the wall next to her.

"The doctor will see you now," said the receptionist.

"Thank you," Christine said stiffly. She turned her head. Then, even though she knew that she shouldn't, she couldn't resist sneaking a look back. The brunette witch who had been sitting behind the desk a moment ago had, of course, turned into Erik. He gave her a snarky look. She ignored him.

"I really appreciate your seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Veruckt," said Christine from her position on the sofa.

"Mm-him," said the doctor, writing busily in a notebook.

"It's just that I'm not sure what's been happening to me. It doesn't make any sense. I've never even heard of anything like this."

"Mmm-mm," said the doctor, still writing in the notebook.

"No matter where I go, no matter what I do, all I see is Erik… dozens and dozens of Erik's… everyone looks like him… everyone sounds like him… and they're all wearing the same sort of really tight trousers…" Her voice broke in a sob. "Doctor, I'm afraid I'm going mad. Just tell me if I am. I'd almost be glad to know for sure!"

Scribble, scribble, scribble, while Christine gnawed at her fingernails in an agony of suspense. Finally, she could endure the silence not one moment more.

"Oh for the love of Christ!" She yelled. "What kind of therapeutic technique is this?"

Very slowly, the doctor lowered the notebook to reveal his face. Erik smirked back at her. "Really, Miss Daae do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Augghhhh!" Christine ran screaming from the office and back into the tunnels.

"Really, Child, it's not as if you've got anywhere to go," observed Erik.

"You're only running from yourself, you know," called another Erik. Another Erik nodded his head in agreement as he walked by.

"No… no…"moaned Christine, spinning round, trying not to trip but the cacophony of Erik's rose and swelled from all sides of her like a bad chorus.

She felt a dark suit in the darkness and grabbed him viciously.

"_You_," she snarled at the Erik's as they stepped out to block her passage, "you will simply not leave me alone will you?"

They laughed.

"We are not _now _Erik, we are Erik from four years ago.

"What are you talking about you idiots?"

The Erik's exchanged a hurt glance with one another.

"That's a fine way to thank us for beating out rhythms to perverted sexual fantasies about you every single night for the last four or five years," said thirty-one year old Erik.

Christine blinked, a hot blush appearing in her cheeks. "What?"

Thirty year old Erik nodded. "Oh, yes. Well, twenty nine and twenty eight always did imagine you a bit older, until you grew that lovely pair of tits when you were about thirteen and a half years old.

"And I'm supposed to be flattered by this?" Christine demanded.

"Of course," shrugged Thirty-one year old Erik. "After all, it's _us_ we're talking about."

"Out of my way," snarled Christine, pushing them aside. "And _you!_" She stabbed a finger into Thirty four year old Erik chest. "You're much worse. They were just complete prats, but _you_…"She couldn't finish her sentence. If he hadn't dropped the scenery on Carlotta then she never would have been forced to sing and then deprived of sleep for a week straight. Then Joeseph Buquet never would have died. She preferred to hold onto her anger at Erik , and her blame.

"You did terrible things," she finally said.

"I did," he said.

"And you never even _wanted_ to not do them. You never wanted to be better than you were, that year," she said. She knew that wasn't fair, even as she said it.

He shook his head. Then he took her hand and laid it against his face, the side uncovered by a mask, and closed his eyes, and said, very softly, "If I'd had you, that year, Christine—if you'd been to me what you were to Raoul—I could have been better than I was. And I wouldn't have left you, or given you up. Even if I hurt you, I suppose. So it was better for you that I didn't, really."

"What?" repeated Christine. "Wait a minute—the you's from a few years ago just said that you's were touching yourself every night when you's thought about me, which ought to be only disturbing but is actually shamefully arousing, by the way, and now _you're_ saying… well…" She faltered.

"Understand, I'm not saying that the bringing myself to the point of ecstasy to fantasies about taking you stopped; I think the pace actually picked up," mused thirty-four year old Erik. "Especially over the summer, when you went away for a month with the blonde one, It was like a part of me had died, been ripped from my chest. I do wish you'd been close to hand, Christine, so I wouldn't have been forced to make do with, well my hand. But no, you where perfectly happy with, _him._"He growled now, she felt herself shiver a bit.

"Me and Raoul, have never been more than friends Erik."

"As if _you_ saved yourself for _me_ that year," sneered Erik. "Did you ever have the slightest idea that the entire Opera was referring to you as 'The Vicomtes play-thing'?"

"Look, that's not the least bit fair- I never did anything like that with Raoul, and you can believe me or not, I don't care—" exclaimed Christine. But she was arguing with thin air. Thirty four year old Erik was gone. She kept walking.

Twenty five year old Erik stood at the side of the tunnel bathed in a soft glow. She groaned. "Oh, God, what do _you_ have to say? I never even saw you all year long!"

"Once, you did," he said.

"When? I don't remember it!"

He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. "You wouldn't. It was when you first came to the Opera house. The other dancers despised you for the attention you received from their mistress, not one of them had a word to say to the little girl with the beautiful voice who cried all the time. I was there hidden in the walls, wondering why I even bothered with my existence. No one would, or ever could really love me. I was a monster, a terrible beast. And my face, oh Christine my face was a torture no man deserved to bear. Then I saw you, crying, mourning your dead Father. I wanted to go to you, Christine. I wanted to comfort you. I wish I had." His voice was very bitter. Looking at him, she realized that she did remember. He was thinner than the Erik of the present day, haggard, in fact, tired and worn and broken-looking, and she wondered what he had suffered that year to make him that way. She had never known, and she had certainly never asked.

One corner of Twenty-five year old Erik's mouth turned up in a cynical half-smile. "Oh, loads of things, Christine, and I doubt that most of them are anything you'd want to hear. In Persia the Shah used me to torture his prisoners, for a start—"

Christine took off at a blind, stumbling run, her vision swimming with tears. Child Erik's called out to her to pick them up, holding up their chubby arms, and babies in carriages with Ebony black hair started crying and waving their hands, tiny masks adorned their faces. She only sobbed harder and ran faster, her breath coming in short, desperate pants, until finally she tripped over something and fell flat on her face. Strong arms started to help her up. She fought against them.

"No! No!" she wept, struggling. "Let go of me—I'll call the police, I'll call the Angels—oh, no, except I suppose they'll all look like _you_-"

Her rescuer was, of course, Erik . Christine looked at him and began to cry in great, hiccupping sobs. His dark brows drew together in a frown.

"Christine?"

"Which one are you?" she mumbled.

Erik's eyes narrowed as he helped her to her feet. "Miss Daae, why did you run off on your own in a dangerous myriad of tunnels?"

"Oh," she said in relief. "It's you. It's the _real_ you." Now that she knew she was actually face-to-face with the actual Erik , she wondered why she hadn't seen instantly that it had to be him. She stood up, smiling at him brightly.

"Err… yes…" He spoke in careful, measured tones. "Are you quite all right?"

She cocked her head to one side. "Hmm. I _thought_ it was the real you, anyway. But I'm not sure if the real would have asked that. You'll have to prove it. Otherwise, you might be the Thirty-five year old you, or the Thirty-sixth.."

"Child" asked Erik, "exactly how long have you gone without a proper night's sleep?"

"Oh, ages," said Christine, "but that's really got nothing to do with it. You see, Erik, the problem is that there are just so _many_ of you. And you're everywhere. Everywhere I look… everywhere I go…" She sighed contentedly. "It's such a relief to tell someone about it; you can't imagine. But now there's only you. The rest are gone."

"I think we've got quite enough interesting comments to go on with at the moment," said Erik. "Damn it all to hell, that means we should take you back to my home."

"You didn't used to talk like that," Christine said suddenly.

"What?"

"In your Thirty first… and your Thirty-second. You didn't say things like that, or at least I found out that you didn't always. You liked to make everyone think that you could hide your emotions, but you couldn't always… you said that you wanted to be better than you were, that you could have been, if you'd only had me…"

Erik stopped in his tracks. They were in an alleyway between two shops, and he pulled her into the darkness for a moment, his silvery eyes scanning her face. "_What_?" he demanded. "What the hell did you just say to me, Child?"

She passed a hand over her eyes. "Nothing. I don't know."

He took a deep breath. "Look, what I was just saying is that I don't believe there's any decent alternative to your coming with me to my rooms. I don't know if you're sick, or drunk, or if you've gone mad, or simply sleep-deprived, or what, but I can't leave you out on the street like this. Now come with me." He grabbed her hand.

She looked at him owlishly. "Not until you turn round."

He looked at her blankly.

"You have to turn round first," Christine insisted. "That's the only way I can be sure that it's you."

Erik sighed. "Perhaps the hospital would be a more appropriate place to take you, but in the interests of cutting this insanity short, I'll turn round. There. Satisfied now?"

"Yes." Christine sighed happily.

This definitely had to be the present-day Erik, she decided. After all, he _was_ wearing those tightly-tailored trousers. Perhaps it was her imagination, but they didn't seem as profoundly evil as before.

_Wait!_ Alarm bells went off in her mind. _This is it. It's got to be! He's somehow got me to believe that those trousers of his aren't evil anymore—that's the sinister plot I've been trying to find out! Yes ,yes, yes! And now he's ensnared me into his lair… oh, dear, oh dear…_ But it was too late; that was her last thought before feeling the odd pulling sensation of fainting, slumping to the ground and the next thing she knew, she was standing in her room at Erik's, or rather swaying groggily and having a great deal of trouble keeping on her feet.

(A/N) I would just like to make a few things clear,

methylenedioxymethamphetamine is the scientific name for ecstasy, admittedly something not often used in nineteenth century Paris but meh. Erik is a genius, for all we know he could have had a bat cave down there with helicopters and talking sheep.

Erik's decidedly evil trousers will play a decidedly pivotal role in this story, as will the undershorts of evil. (DUN DUN DUUUUUN)

Yes I am aware how wrong a twenty five year old man obsessing over a ten year old is, but don't judge, let the story develops and things.

The song used is an actual Swedish folk tale translated into English by the lovely people of mamalisa a website on Swedish things. The song is called Ensam går jag här och vankar and if you google it hard enough I'm sure you can find the tune.

Ok, well the first six chapters are written and will be up this week, please tell me what you think! I love you all.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Reviews! Yay! Reviews are good! (Anna skips around.)

Thanks to all the reviewers,

This really, _really_, REALLY is going to be short. I mean it. I swear it. Anyway…  
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Christine blinked blearily at the room around her. Although she seemed to be seeing it through a sort of haze of exhaustion, she could tell that it did look like a bedroom. It wasn't the sort of style she would have associated with Erik. Although she wasn't sure what that would have been, she had vaguely imagined a scenario (_yes, I did__**too**__imagine it vaguely, never mind that I spent at least half of every single lunch hour last year picturing it! Wait, wait. Who am I arguing with? Why, I'm the other half of your brain, Christine. Uh... Um… just hold that thought, all right? You'll be hearing more from me later._).

It was furnished in warm woods and earth tones, high backed arm chairs that just begged her to curl up on and warm persian carpet, everything warm and inviting, the dark red velvet on the walls to the mahogany four poster but softened with vases of fresh flowers, understated and soothing. Christine gave a long, immensely satisfying yawn and began to drop down on the couch. Then she remembered about the trousers, and she glared at Erik.

"I haven't forgotten the way you tricked me," she said.

"Miss Daae, I really don't know what you're talking about," said Erik. "I think what you ought to do is try to get a bit of rest. Why don't you simply spend the night on this bed; it ought to be quite comfortable, and I think I've got some sheets and blankets in here—"

"Oh, you'd like _that_, wouldn't you, ," said Christine. "There I'd be, fast asleep, utterly defenceless, you'd sneak out into the living room at three in the morning carrying those trousers _over one arm_, and then—"

A pinkish colour began to rise in Erik's visible cheek. Christine smirked. That was one thing about the way he was so pale; he'd never been able to hide a blush (_not that I ever noticed before, and not that I ever kept a list of all the times he blushed at me, and not that it got to be about fifty pages long… I don't think anybody ever noticed blushes but me… oh, is that the other half of my brain again?_)

"Look, the fact that you don't exactly hold a high opinion of my moral character hasn't escaped my notice," said Erik coldly. "But no matter what you might think of me, Miss Daae, you'll never find anyone who can say that I've ever forced myself on any girl."

She dropped her eyes to the floor, feeling ashamed of herself. "I didn't say—"

"No, you didn't say, but I know bloody well what you thought," he muttered. "Not that you're really much worse than anyone else in that regard, I suppose." He turned away, still muttering, his voice sinking lower and lower until she could just barely hear it, and she knew that he was no longer talking to her at all. "Do you think I'm not aware of the fact that nobody in the world really cares for me? Do you think I don't know what they're always thinking about me, all of them…"

He broke off, slipped out of his cloak, and reached up to hang them on a hook on the back of a door. Christine sucked in her breath, her eyes glued to the subtle movements of his arms. And the way the muscles in his chest sort of shifted against each other when he stood on tippy-toe…

"It's not the trousers!" she gasped. "It's that shirt, too! The way it's cut—there's something about the stripes in the back! They're moving up and down, back and forth—" She traced a pattern in the air with her forefinger. "They just never _stop_. , I need to have a better look. I need to know exactly what sort of evil plot—" She gave a sudden lunge forward and grabbed a handful of the material. But she was right; the shirt really _was_ exquisitely cut, and there just wasn't much extra material to grab. She found herself grabbing hard, warm muscle underneath instead. Lots of it. Much more than she would have imagined, considering how thin he looked.

The cloak dropped to the floor in a puddle.

For an instant, Christine could only hear the sound of her own breathing, and his. They were so close that she could smell the spicy scent coming off his skin, like cloves and musk and vanilla, no, chocolate, he really _did_ smell like chocolate. She looked up at him.

"Extra special dark," she said solemnly.

"What?" he asked, looking decidedly dazed.

"That's the sort of chocolate," she said. "Mmmmm." Then she leaned closer, sniffing, inhaling deeply, standing on her toes, angling her face towards his neck because that was where the scent seemed to be strongest, no, it was at his slightly parted pink lips where the lower one was so full and the upper one was a little thinner and sort of folded-over looking and she was _sure_ that he was holding the chocolate in his mouth and if he opened it just a bit more she could get at it with her tongue and—

The delicious scent moved away. She tried to follow it. A large, strong, lanky hand held her back.

"Miss Daae," Erik said in measured tones. "Listen to me."

She shook her head back and forth to clear it a bit, looking up at him.

"Here's what we're going to do. I've got a plan, and, no—" He held up a hand. "It's not an evil plan."

"No trousers involved?" she asked dazedly.

"No trousers whatsoever involved," said Erik, and then looked decidedly green. "Err… scratch that… let's get rid of the trousers entirely, and let's get rid of the shirt while we're at it, and the boxers as well, all of the clothing, in fact… This is getting worse and worse. No puppy-strangling involved. That's safe enough, isn't it? No puppies will be harmed."

"No puppies?" asked Christine.

"The puppies will be perfectly all right. Think of that as you drift off to sleep," said Erik. "Sweet, adorable little puppies, falling all over each other in play." He placed his hand carefully in the small of her back and guided her to the couch. "Rock-a-bye Miss Daae, in the tree-top, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock-"

Christine smothered another enormous yawn. "I am dreadfully tired," she admitted.

"Of course you are," said Erik, opening the closet and handing her a pillow and blankets.

She snuggled into the cushions. "Will you tuck me in?" she asked sleepily.

"Sweet Merlin, what was in that vial?"

"Methylenedioxymethamphetamine" said Christine, lying back on the pillow.

"Sounds wonderful," said Erik, tucking the blankets around Christine's shoulders. "Now if you don't mind, Miss Daae, I'm going to try to get some work done—"

"Will you tell me a story?" asked Christine.

Erik rolled his eyes, but he sat on the edge of the couch. "Once there was a very evil wizard named Erik who lured a sweet, beautiful witch named Christine Daae into his sinister lair. He had perfectly evil designs on her virtue, all of which involved much puppy-strangling. However, what nobody knew was that Christine Daae was clever, resourceful, and more than capable of driving the poor, innocent, misunderstood Erik completely round the bend, which she did. He was last seen running for the safety of the psychiatric ward as she chased him, laughing manically all the way. The End."

Christine sighed happily. "I liked that one. Wait—" She plucked at Erik's sleeve. "One more thing."

"What is it _now_, Miss Daae?"

"I want a teddy bear."

"Will you finally go to sleep if I get you one?"

She nodded.

Erik gave a long, martyred sigh and turned back to rummage in the closet, throwing aside a spare set of robes, a pair of boots, a pair of leather trousers that made Christine unconsciously lick her lips and imagine him wearing them, straddling a horse with a lock of black hair falling over his eyes and an umbrella.

"I don't know what happened to the bear," he said. "He was here yesterday. So I'm really not sure—"

Christine sat bolt upright in bed with a shriek. Erik fumbled with the umbrella and threw it up in the air. "What in the hell are you screeching about _now_, Miss Daae? What in Lucifer's name do I have to do to get you to go to sleep?

"Those! That! I knew it, I _knew_ it!" Christine stabbed a finger at something that had fallen on the floor next to the umbrella.

Erik frowned at the scrap of cloth and picked it up between thumb and forefinger. "What? These?"

Christine recoiled from the pair of undershorts embroidered with red and pink hearts.

"Yes!" yelled Christine, leaping off the couch and dragging the blankets with her. "Those!"

Erik gave them another look, snorted, and tossed them aside. "Miss Daae, you've absolutely got to be joking. They where a gift from an adoring fan, sweet girl. Liked the taste of mystery that surrounded me." The blush returned. "I suppose I ought to get rid of them, really, but it was such a nice thought at the time, and really, it's the thought that counts."

"You can't fool me!" screeched Christine. "They're… they're… The Undershorts of Evil!"

Erik laughed in her face.

Christine gave Erik an ominous, smouldering look that would have terrified him if he had ever exposed to it during Christine's growing-up years. Since he had not, however, he was less-than-blissfully ignorant of all that it implied. "I am getting out of here," she said, opening the door, throwing it wide, and marching through it.

Some minutes passed.

"Miss Daae, have you figured out that you're in the hall closet yet?" called Erik.

"I meant to do that," said Christine in a dignified way, marching back into the living room. "I'm going right this instant. Don't try to stop me!"

"Look, I can't let you do this—" Erik began.

" I will be perfectly fine," said Christine icily, "if I can just find the bloody boat."

She could not.

After watching her try to open all the knobs on the stove and step through them, Erik intervened. "Miss Daae, I'm not a complete and utter monster, whatever you may think. I can't let you go out in this state. No…" He gently steered her in the other direction as she attempted to walk into the bath. "The gods only know what would happen to you. I couldn't live with myself if—"

"Don't _touch_!" she said, glaring at him fixedly. Even Erik stepped back at that glare. He held up his hands.

"Don't worry," he said frigidly. "I won't. But you're not going outside."

"I am," said Christine.

"You're not," said Erik.

They faced each other in the kitchen, two utterly stubborn and matching expressions on their faces.

"There's only one thing to do," said Christine.

"And what would that be?" asked Erik. "Are you going to behave like a rational human being, lie down on that bed, and get a few hours of rest before going anywhere?"

"No," said Christine, starting to rummage in his kitchen cabinets. "I'm going to find an antidote."

"I don't know what you're talking about it. What if I locked myself in my bedroom and gave you the key? Would _that_ be enough for you?"

Christine cast him a scornful glance over one shoulder. "Oh, you're think you're clever, , don't you? I'll bet you've got duplicate keys… loads of duplicate keys, dozens, probably… each one in a separate pocket of another pair of those evil trousers in your closet…" She reached up to the top shelf. "You see, I've finally figured it out."

"Figured _what_ out?" Erik leaned against a kitchen counter and folded his arms. "Miss Daae, you're really starting to scare me, and believe me, that's quite an accomplishment. I've faced down everyone you could ever imagine, stretching all the way from a violent assassin, a circus master with a sadistic obsession with whips, Kings, princes, and even La Carlotta when and if you don't think _that's_ a feat, then you have never truly met Carlotta

_You're_ the one who gave me that potion," said Christine.

"Nobody gave you that potion," Erik said wearily. "You snatched it from Meg and drank it down, over her strenuous objections, I might add."

He was right, and it made Christine more furious than ever. "It was still your fault..Somehow… I'm not sure… Oh! I know! You got me to drink it through some sneaky mind-meld technique!"

Erik grabbed Christine and spun her round to face him. His face was angrier than she had ever seen it. "Yes. You know what I am," he said in a low, intense voice.

"I—I didn't mean—" she stuttered.

"Oh, you did. You've been thinking it all along, and you've finally come out and said it. Well, bully for you, Christine. I manipulate people, I manipulated you for seven years before revealing myself. I kill people Christine." He kept his eyes fixed on hers, pulling a hand to his mask and yanked it up with one vicious motion. "I did everything I could to get rid of this. I tried every form of makeup, every healer… I tried cutting it out more than once, when I was utterly inebriated on whisky, _that_ didn't do any good…, did you know that? No? You can go and tell all your friends that Erik 's stooped to that. Their fearsome Phantom is nothing but a devil in the darkness. Go Christine, tell them!"

"I—I wouldn't—"

"I don't care what anyone says about me anymore. That's a tame titbit compared to some of the gossip, I'm sure," he said bitterly. She did not look at the ugly, twisted scar on his right check just above the bone, for could not stop looking into his eyes. Then he replaced the mask back over it, and as soon as he dropped his eyes from hers, she let the tears fall that she had been holding back.

"You've figured it out, you and everyone else who I've ever cared for, and I hope you're all happy with your brilliant insights," Erik went on. "But nobody stays for too long. Not when they know the things I have done. Of course" he laughed bitterly. "nobody knows _why_ I've had to do the things I've done, and nobody ever will, because I've buried that past, buried it a thousand miles deep, and I keep my secrets. And once and for all, Miss Daae, I never want you to hear one word out of you about any of it, ever again."

Even through the exhaustion and paranoia and seething lust for Erik that Christine was struggling so hopelessly to keep under wraps, she quailed at the awful sound of his melodic voice. _I should apologize_, she realized. But she couldn't do it. The look on his face was so dreadful that she couldn't even open her mouth. And besides, she was a Daae, and Daaes didn't admit they were wrong until every other avenue had been tried, particularly the ones that involved unbelievably stupid and pointless bravery.

She was holding a small bottle of dark liquid. She looked up at the shelf she had taken from; it was clearly labelled _Antidotes, General_. She unscrewed the top. Erik's eyes widened in alarm.

"Miss Daae, I really wouldn't do that if I were you—"

It was too late. Christine had already downed the potion in one gulp; she grimaced and threw the little bottle aside. Essence of U. D. was written on the bottom in Eriks neat, flowing script, but neither she nor Erik saw it.

"Now I won't have to stay here at all," she said dully. "Just give me a few moments until it takes effect, , and I'll be out of your hair forever." (_And what beautiful hair it is_, she thought sadly. _I'll never get a chance to run my fingers through it now._)

The minutes ticked by. Erik looked away from her, drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter. Slowly, the room seemed to be coming into sharper focus.

"I think it's starting to work," said Christine.

"Fine," said Erik. "Do you need anything before you go?"

Christine shook her head, but the motion caused her to catch a glance of something out of the corner of her eye. There was a mirror on the opposite wall of the living room in little strips. She saw Erik leaning against the counter, his face a mask of unconcern, gray eyes glittering, perfect features on his left side set into flawless indifference, arms crossed over that gloriously sculpted chest in that evil-ly striped shirt, tucked into the—Christine looked again to be sure—extremely evil tailored trousers. She breathed a sigh of relief. His evil influence over her had clearly been broken, because the trousers looked evil again, but the _next_ strip of mirror- _oh, ick_. The reflected Christine was a bedraggled mess. Her clothes were rumpled and covered with mud, her face was streaked with dirt, and every hair on her head was standing on end in a different direction.

"I can't possibly go out like this," she said. "I need a bath."

"Feel free to use mine," said Erik. "I'd certainly rather that you didn't leave my flat looking like that. I do have a reputation to keep up with the neighbours, after all, and I can assure you that you're not up to the usual standard of my female visitors."

His tongue in cheek humour caused a small smile to creep back onto Christine's pouting lips . Still, the idea of a long, hot shower sounded very tempting. "What guarantee do I have that you won't sneak in while I'm washing my hair?"

"Oh, gods… Here!" Erik fumbled with something at his belt.

"What are you doing?" demanded Christine suspiciously. "Those trousers are involved, aren't they?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," said Erik. He pulled out his key to the opera house and handed it to Christine. "_Now_ do you believe that I don't have nefarious designs on your virtue?"

"No."

"Miss Daae, try to be reasonable for a moment, or at least not quite so psychotic as you currently are," said Erik. "You've now got both your key and my own. I clearly can't carry out whatever evil plots were evil-ly brewing in my evil, evil, head. I'm at your mercy, all right?"

The thought of Erik at her mercy was suddenly, shamefully appealing. Christine imagined him in a slave-boy outfit. She licked her lips. That other half of her brain was acting up again.

"Only I'd appreciate it if you'd refrain from scratching me with it, if you don't mind," Erik was saying.

_Oh, I won't scratch you. I will just rip your clothes from that body of yours and devour you until-_

Christine gulped. She was _definitely_ going to need to have a long, long talk with that other half of her brain.


	3. Chapter 3

A Um, the sane Christine is kind of slipping further and further away right now, but I think everybody will start to see why. This is the first of the NC-17-goodness chapters to come, BTW. ;) But it's FAR from the last. Trust me on that one.  
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Christine stepped out of her clothes, leaving them in a filthy pile on the floor. They were strewn about the very centre of a pattern of black tiles, and she felt a momentary pang of regret that the quality of the artwork wasn't exactly improved. The pang seemed to start in her chest and slowly travel all the way down through her stomach before settling between her legs, and Christine couldn't quite understand why. She'd never experienced that effect whilst viewing great art before (_well, perhaps just a bit when I was standing in front of Michelangelo's David in Florence, but I think that had something to do with the way that I couldn't stop thinking that if he lost some weight, he'd look rather like Erik… except for the naughty bits, which didn't seem the least bit anatomically correct by comparison. That's what I thought from all those detailed examinations of the snugly tailored fronts of those very, very evil trousers, anyway….the examinations I absolutely, positively never made! Oh, what's the matter with me?_ Christine shook her head in despair and decided that she needed to take a very long, _cold_ bath.

Once she'd stepped into the tin tub, she squinted at the taps in a confused way. There seemed to be so many of them set into the azure blue-tiled walls at various angles, and then there was that huge one above her. Christine started turning knobs at random, and deliciously hot water deluged her from all sides. She gave a luxurious sigh and arched her back, moving this way and that to catch the sprays of steaming water. She sniffed the soaps; they were all sumptuous florals. There was jasmine, lily of the valley, violet, gardenia… ahhh. She found her favourite Rose scent and began to lather herself. _I wonder if all those others are for, he doesn't appear to have a dark chocolate scented one. I knew he was hiding it in his mouth!_ she thought sourly. Christine lifted one leg to let the water hit the back of her thigh just so. _Wonder if Erik ever comes in here and takes a Bath? Well he must do, he does not smell and he is so deliciously well groomed.. unlike me. Mmm…. _

_I'll bet he lather his hair, and he gets to run his fingers through it, and it feels sort of soft and thick and fine, all at the same time._ Christine ran her fingers through her own hair.

_And then she moves on to his chest, and runs her hand down those thick muscles, and feels them move under her fingers…_ Slowly, Christine moved her hands down her own chest, cupping her breasts. She rolled her nipples between her wet fingers without really thinking about it and felt them harden.

_Then I'd move down, down, and I'd finally get to squeeze that perfect arse of his. Oh, God, I've wanted to do that! I wonder how it feels? Round and firm and tightly packed and… Mmmmm….._ Christine didn't even notice that she had replaced the vaguely imagined slutty girl with herself as she ran her hands down her hips.

_And then, oh, yes, yes, and then, I'd move round to the front, very slowly, I'd feel his thighs, they're thin but I'll bet his muscles are just flawlessly shaped, and I'd take both my hands and I'd grasp his manhood and I'd feel how hard he is for me, I wonder just how big he is, I've noticed how snugly tailored those trousers are in front, don't think I haven't, so I do have some idea, and then… then…_ Christine threw her head back and moaned slightly, rocking her hips forward. She spread her legs, and one of the jets of water massaged her clit unerringly with each one of her movements. She could see herself touching Erik; she could almost hear him groaning in pleasure, or maybe it was herself she heard as she picturing him reaching forward and touching her; she could feel the first delicious stirrings between her legs, her body tightening, readying itself for, she knew not what, but oh, _God_, but it was going to be good, and then…

_Bam. Bam. Bam_.

Christine shrieked, threw the washcloth up in the air, bumped her leg on a hot water tap, and skidded into a wall.

"Miss Daae? Are you all right in there?"

"What? Where? How? Who?" She whipped her head round frantically, catching her own reflection in the mirror directly opposite. She looked like a madwoman. She was gasping for air, her face was bright red, her hands were clenched into fists, and her face was contorted into an expression that might as well have included the words _I Want Eric _tattooed on her forehead in extra-large, bold-face, _ Gothic_ lettering.

"You've been in there for almost half an hour, and I heard this loud sort of groaning— what was that _shriek_ about?" The doorknob was rattled. "Damn! I don't have my key. That's right, I gave it to you. Miss Daae, answer me, or I swear I'm breaking the door down and coming in there—"

"_No!_!" Christine jumped out of the shower and frantically grabbed a green bathrobe from a shelf. The sleeves hung down to cover the tips of her fingers and the hem brushed the floor, but it would just have to do. "Uh—coming, Erik!" _Or rather, I'm not, and it's all your fault,_she snarled in a hideously frustrated and quite illogical way to herself as she tied the belt tightly around her waist. _Oh God, what's wrong with me?_ She paused. _I could just reach between my legs and finish the job… it wouldn't take half a moment, I can feel how ready I still am._ And she was still throbbing, still aching, still longing to feel the deep, satisfying shivers of a really good climax; the few times she had timidly tried her own fingers had never been enough. But then Christine looked at her white face in the mirror, lips set. She would not, _would not_, bring herself to orgasm standing on Erik's bathroom floor while he tapped his foot impatiently and waited for her just outside the door.

When she swung it open and saw him, however, she had a sudden and devout wish for a Time machine.

_Oh, if I could just go back thirty seconds and do it! I wonder if I could slam the door in his face and just go at it for a few hours? But that hasn't been working recently at all well, except when I picture a naked Erik anyway, and now I would know that he's naked under those trousers on the other side of the door anyway, so that won't work… I wonder if I could grab that odd latex thing off the wall and… oh, I'm going to go mad, oh, dear God, what's wrong with me, what was in that antidote, oh, oh, oh…_

"Miss Daae," Erik said slowly, "what in God's name is wrong with you?"

Her eyes travelled slowly up his body, from slender, muscled thighs to snugly tailored front trousers that hinted ever so subtly at the awe-inspiring tackle beneath, to his narrow waist flaring upward to that deliciously muscled chest, to that neck which clearly needed to be licked inch by inch all the way to his sinfully kissable pink mouth, to his face half hidden by the mask. What an annoyance that mask was, how perfect would it be to rip it away and caress ever part of his deformity. Finally her gaze lifted to those astonishing silvery eyes which were currently studying her as if she had turned into some unbelievable freak. Christine made a noise that was somewhere between a moan and a sob.

"I need," she said.

"Have you eaten anything? You really looked as if you were about ready to drop dead from starvation earlier. Perhaps I should scramble some eggs…" Erik started to walk towards the kitchen, revealing the tightly tailored back of his trousers, and Christine stumbled after him.

"I want," she squeaked, clutching onto the kitchen counter.

"How about a glass of water?" asked Erik. "You sound absolutely parched. Here—" He bent over in front of her to reach into a kitchen cabinet. Somewhere in the recesses of her crazed mind, Christine decided that it had become more than flesh could be expected to endure. She leaped on him from behind. They both crashed into the sink. Erik threw his hands up.

"Miss Daae—no—wait, wait, stop, what are you doing, have you gone mad?" he demanded. "What are you trying to _do_, what do you want?"

"Sex!" screeched Christine, trying to climb on top of Erik and shove him into the sink. However, her intentions were far from clear, since it looked like she was making an attempt to get to the front door. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open in shock, and he grabbed her around the waist. She arched her back and pressed her body into Erik, although her intentions were easy to misconstrue, and it seemed more as if she was trying to get away from him.

"I need it," she panted, "now, now, _now_-"

His face hardened. "I'm not letting you out there! No! Take, Christine, do you realize what would happen to you if I did?" he demanded. "This isn't the safest neighbourhood the world has ever seen; do you want some man to get hold of you and take you up on that charming offer—"

"No! I don't want to go anywhere, Erik, and I can't do it with anyone else! I really, really need to have sex with _you_!" she blurted. "Now get those damn trousers off!"

Erik froze. Then he turned very slowly to look at her. There was only one little candle in the kitchen. She could just barely see his face, and she could not read his expression.

_Idiot, idiot, idiot!_ half of her brain screamed at itself. _How could you say that? Don't you realize how you sounded? Like some sort of… sex-crazed slut!_

_I am a sex-crazed slut,_ the other half of her brain snarled in return.

_It's all his fault! It must be._

_How? That doesn't make any sense at all!_

_Well… let's see…_

"You tricked me into taking that potion!" blurted Christine. "You knew what it would do, Erik. It was some kind of aphrodisiac, and you knew it would turn me into a sex-crazed harlot (_just as well we got a bit more mileage out of that phrase_, the other half of her brain thought approvingly) and now you've got me right where you want me, and you're going to throw me over one of your amazingly broad shoulders and toss me onto your bed and ravish me ruthlessly for hours on end!"

Erik just looked at her without changing his expression one bit. Christine began to feel rather foolish.

_He tried to tell us not to take it. He tried to get us to lie down and rest until we felt better,_ the first half weakly protested.

_Remember all those sinister plots! Puppy-strangling! Undershorts of Evil! And don't forget the excessively tight trousers!_ screeched the second half.

_Oooohhh…. Tight trousers…._ the two halves sighed in unison.

_No, no,_ whimpered the first half. _This cannot happen. I'm going to fight it. I'm not giving in. I won't let Erik's sinister sex-god wiles lure me into-_

_Tackling him to the floor, ripping those trousers off, and riding him like a horse in heat,_ finished the second half. _You were saying?_

Christine felt a light touch on her arm. It was Erik's hand. Her knees buckled, and she had to grab the counter for support. He was just barely touching her, and she felt like he had set a fire in her flesh that could never be quenched. And he still hadn't said a single word to her. God, what must he be _thinking_? Shame and humiliation ran through her body, mingling with the unbearable desire, and she blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

"Look, I'm not any happier about it than you are! I'm sure that shagging a chorus rat is the last thing _you_ want."

Erik opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "Look—I'm not—I didn't—"

Christine barely heard him. "Do you think I _want_ to have anything to do with you that way? I don't! If you were the last man on earth, I wouldn't choose-"

The Erik mask snapped up around his face; it almost happened faster than the eye could see. "So sorry there isn't some other man about the house for you to use instead, then, Miss Daae," he sneered.

She stepped up until she was face to face with him, stabbing her finger into his chest. If she could only stay angry enough! The rage seemed to beat back this awful physical need, just a little bit. "I wish there was!"

"Well, I don't generally have one to hand!"

"Well, you should!" yelled Christine, with frightening volume and complete lack of logic.

Erik leaned towards her, his eyes turning icy. "I can assure you that when I'm entertaining _guests_ here, they don't need any extra company—I'm more than enough."

"I'm quite sure you are!" snapped Christine, leaning up towards him.

"And I can _also_ assure you that while your rubbish about aphrodisiac potion isn't even worth the waste of my breath I'll use in replying to it, I don't need to use any such thing while said entertainment is going on!"

"I'm sure that you don't!" snapped Christine, leaning up even further towards him. "Because you don't even have to tell me—I can guess, I can _imagine_, that your technique is amazing, Erik, and I'm sure you'd know how to make me writhe and moan and scream your name, and clutch onto you, and wrap my legs around your stunningly perfect body, and that astonishingly flawless arse! Mathematicians must use your arse as the model for the perfect circle. I'm sure of it. Maybe the evil plot is somehow based on that…" She dropped to her knees and tried to crawl around behind him. "Let me touch it once, Erik, just _once_, I just need to be sure it's real, it could be an optical illusion…"

He stared at her for a moment before moving, his face absolutely frozen, and it was just a moment too long. Christine grabbed him, he turned; he pulled her up, she fell against him, and she took his head in her hands and kissed him fiercely. His lips were stiff under hers for just a moment. Then, with a groan, he shoved her forwards, against the kitchen cabinets, and he kissed her back.

_I see your point,_ said the second half of her brain to the first. _I think our continued existence will require ravishing his brains out. So to speak._

_I knew you'd see reason,_ agreed the first half, and with that, Christine was once more of one mind. She sighed happily and reached for the top buttons of Erik's shirt, preparatory to ripping them all off in one fell swoop.

Then, suddenly, everything had somehow gone wrong. She was left standing in the middle of the kitchen, alone and confused, and Erik wasn't kissing her anymore. He had sunk back to the edge of the counter, his head in his hands, and he was mumbling something that sounded disturbingly like, "oh, gods, we can't do this, we absolutely cannot do this, no, no, no."

Clearly, this highly unsatisfactory state of affairs could not continue to exist. There was only one solution. Christine gave a flying leap. Erik dodged it. She began chasing him round and round the kitchen.

Erik was very fast, and he certainly knew the layout of his own kitchen better than she did. He was very good at leaping over chairs, diving behind cabinets, and throwing mixing bowls and chafing dishes in her way, not that they slowed her down very much. He even managed to hide behind the piano for about ten seconds. But Christine was driven by crazed, primal lust that was growing worse by the second, so the ending was probably inevitable.

He stumbled over a cast-iron Dutch oven lying in the middle of the floor and fell to his knees. Christine's eyes gleamed as she saw her chance. He put his hands up in a pitiful and highly ineffectual gesture. "Too late, Erik," she purred, and then she jumped him.

He scrambled up, moving backwards. She followed, pressing him against the cabinets, up to the sink. _I've got him!_ her brain exulted. She was just leaning forward to tear his shirt off when he suddenly used her own momentum against her and flipped her around, pinioning her wrists against the hard metal. She fought him as hard as she could, but he had her pinned, bent backwards against the sink, she could feel his legs pressing hers against the wood of the cabinets as well. She struggled vigorously, but she didn't have the least thought of trying to get away. In fact, the picture of struggling against him (although not terribly hard) as he pinned her down and ravished her thoroughly was a shamefully arousing one, although Christine decided that she'd prefer a setting that didn't involve a brass faucet digging into her back.

"Shh, shh," he said. "Shhh. It's all right. Christine, it's going to be all right. Shhh. If I could just get at a Calming draft…" He twisted away from her, towards the cabinets, and another pang of desperate desire rippled through her.

"I'm not taking any more potions!"

"What was that one you got from my cabinet?" he muttered. "Shite… what could it have been?" His image begin to swim in front her, seen through a haze of her tears. Christine blinked. She felt herself falling to one side; his hand pushed her back up, spreading heat through her body, and she clutched at it. The hand moved to her chin and raised it, and she saw Erik's silvery eyes examining her face.

"Oh, take," he muttered. "I know what this is! I know what it's got to be. How the _hell_ it ever got in my kitchen cabinet I don't know, but that doesn't matter now. Miss Daae, listen to me, you've got to listen—I know it's difficult, but you have to at least try, or you won't understand what's happening. You drank a Potion of Uncontrollable Desire. It's the one that a few of the alchemists in Persia were always trying to brew, they were the worst sort of bloody idiots but they thought they were being clever. They were always snickering about it; if they'd managed to do it, and if they'd been able to slip it into what some poor girl was drinking, she supposedly wouldn't be able to resist them. I always thought it was one of the more disgusting things I'd heard of in my life, which is saying a lot, of course.

"Could _you_ have done it?" demanded Christine, with what felt like the last scrap of her capacity for rational thought.

"Yes," muttered Erik. "I bloody well could have done it. Nobody really knows exactly how that remedy would have worked, because it hasn't been brewed in so damn long, but I could have done it.

"Then why didn't _you_ do it?"

"First of all, because I've never _needed_ to!" said Erik hotly. "I've never had any need for women in my bed until—but mostly because—" he broke off. "I did think about it once," he said in a low, intense voice. "I did. Because I knew that I couldn't get y- I mean, _her_, any other way. But it would have been wrong, the worst thing I've ever done. It wouldn't have been much better than rape. And if you don't think that I would have held back from doing something like that, even when I was an arrogant, cruel, frightened, miserable little bastard—" He broke off again.

"Oh, what difference does any of that make now?" yelled Christine. "I need you to take me! Just _take_ me, Erik! No, I didn't know you had this bloody unbearably precious conscience to deal, but we can argue about it later, after you've shagged me senseless, can't we?"

"_No!_" he exploded. "Didn't you hear a word I just said?"

His face was implacable. He wasn't going to give in to her. She could see it. Christine slumped back to the sink, exhausted. For a few moments, there was only the sound of her weeping, because she had begun to cry without even knowing quite when she'd started. Everything had somehow gone wrong. The wonderful, delicious desire had somehow turned against her; it had become too strong, too awful, too horribly unsatisfied. Only Erik could give her any relief from it, could _finish_ it for her, and he wasn't going to do it.

"Don't cry," he was whispering. "Please, please, Christine don't cry."

She cried harder.

"I can't bear to see you cry," she thought she heard him say, except that she couldn't have heard Erik say anything like that. Not to her.

"Then _do_something!" wailed Christine. "Either take me right now, or… _an antidote!_" She grasped onto the idea like one last saving straw. "Is there an antidote to the potion?"

Erik looked at her miserably. She could see something changing and shifting behind his beautiful silvery eyes. "Oh, Christine." he said. "No. There's not."


	4. Chapter 4

Now, listen to me, Christine. You've got to stay here until the effects of the potion have passed, and I'm sure they'll pass. If I'd got to tie you up to keep you safe from yourself—from _me_- I'll do it," Erik said through gritted teeth.

Christine thought quickly; she'd have to be clever now, clever and crafty, she might have only a few seconds. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against him so that they spilled over the top of the lace and silk corset, and she laughed when she saw that his eyes went to them as if he'd been hypnotized. "Yes, yes, Erik, you could tie me up if you wanted, would you like to do that? Is that the sort of thing you like? Think of me naked and tied to your bed, Erik, spread wide for you, open, ready, helpless, I couldn't stop you, I'd be helpless against whatever you wanted to do to me, but I wouldn't want to stop you, because you could do anything you liked, have me any way you wanted—you can't tell me you don't want me like that—"

She could hear how heavy his breathing had become, how raspy. "You've got to stop this," he said hoarsely. "Christine. Stop. Now. I need you to help me. Please child. You've got to. I know, I know, the potion… God only knows how it ended up in my kitchen cabinet… but you've got to reach deep inside yourself and somehow find the strength…"

"Deep inside," whispered Christine. "Yes. Yes, I want you deep inside me, Erik."

"This is getting worse by the second," groaned Erik. "You don't even know what any of this means Christine, you're still just a child. An innocent little child and you've got to stop this now, this instant, this second, or it's going to be too late—"He lunged forwards; whether to restrain her, or because he had finally lost control despite his words, she never knew. She laughed hysterically, leaning backwards, using the momentum of his own movement to pull him down onto her, opening her legs so that he slipped between them. Erik stumbled and lost his balance; his hips slammed against her lower body, and his mouth crashed into hers. He gasped. She arched her back, and her entire body pressed up against his, moulding itself to him, and finally she felt how much he really wanted her, his huge, rock-hard arousal stabbing between her legs, greedy, throbbing, demanding, separated from her desperate need by no more than a few thin layers of cloth.

"You want me!" she said triumphantly. "You do, you do, I can feel it! You're so big, Erik—so hard, so ready for me—" She slid up his length, then down again, and she heard his breath hiss through his teeth. "Get this inside me, now, hurry!"

He took a deep, deep breath. Then he stepped back from her. "_No_! Christine, I won't do this to you! You don't know what you're saying. You'd hate me afterwards, you'd hate yourself, I won't do it!"

"I wouldn't hate you, I wouldn't blame you," she said eagerly. "I swear I wouldn't, Erik! You want to, don't you? Yes, yes, I can tell you do. Oh, what a perfectly beautiful cock you must have, Erik. I always suspected." She sighed blissfully. "Can't I get a better look?"

"Oh, blast," he muttered, trying to pull back from her. She wriggled under him. He leaned on her harder to keep her from getting away; she struggled harder; her breath came faster, and so did his, Christine suddenly got her hands free, and she wound them around his back. He tried to get away from her at first, but she was everywhere, kissing his mouth, his neck, his chest, her hands tearing his shirt open, and she moaned as she touched his naked chest for the first time. He groaned in despair.

"Don't do this," he begged her, trying to grab her hands and hold them still. "Christine, you don't know what you're doing. Can't you just believe me? You don't know what sort of fire you're playing with. You have no idea, the time I've spent working for control around you, the _years_ I've had to do it—"

She threw her head back and laughed. Then she threw the bathrobe open, so quickly that he couldn't stop her. Christine's nearly-naked chest gleamed in the faint light from the window. She thrust her firm, round breasts forward in the silk and lace chemise until they filled Erik's hands.

"Take this off me," she said. "I have to know what it feels like when you squeeze my nipples, Erik, I want to put your mouth on them, suck them, bite them, please, please—"

Erik swore violently but did not move back from her; he only pulled his hands away and then clenched them into fists so tightly that the knuckles looked as if they were about to burst through the skin.

"You can't tell me that you don't want me," she insisted.

"Why?" he ground out between gritted teeth. "Because I'm hard for you, because I'm ready to burst, do you think any of that proves anything, do you think any man would feel any differently if you were shaking your tits at him like that and begging him to rip your clothes off and bite your nipples and- "

"No!" she yelled. "Because you told me that you touched yourself and thought about me every single night in your bed for five bloody years, Erik. You wanted me then. So now, now that you can have me, why don't you?"

He recoiled from her violently, and looked at her as if she had escaped from all of his worst nightmares. "How did you know that?" he whispered. "How did you—you can't know! You can't possibly know! I've never told anyone—"

She jumped down from the sink and stalked towards him as he backed away from her. "I saw you, Erik. I saw you as you were during your past five years"

"No, that's not possible—" He kept moving back.

"And that's what you said to me! You wanted me, you did!"

Erik gave her one terrified look. Then he ran for his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Christine could hear the rattling of the lock, and his cursing. She laughed triumphantly. His key was in the bathroom along with hers, and he had no way to keep her out. She threw the door open and tackled Erik to the bed with one flying leap. It was a beautiful bed, she saw fleetingly. King-sized at least, with a dark hand-rubbed oak four-poster canopy design and thick green coverlets. _Mmm__. Hand-rubbed. That gives me some ideas._

"Why are you trying to fight me?" she purred. "Erik, I _know_ that you want me. I know you want to touch these." She leaned down and brushed her breasts lightly across his face so that the lace-tipped nipples just touched his lips. Her hands were holding his down to the bed, but she couldn't help noticing that he didn't seem to be trying very hard to get away.

"Christine…. " he groaned. "Christine, can't you just try to understand, if there's any capacity for rational thought left in that sex-crazed brain of yours…"

"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Christine.

"Listen to me, _please_… you only want this, you only want _me_, because of the potion. I have to be blunt to get through to you, so I will be. You'd have any man right now," Erik said harshly, although his voice was trembling so hard that he could barely get the words out. "I could shove any man on earth in front of you and you'd beg him to fuck you just as relentlessly as you're begging me. So if we do this, you'll regret it as long as you live—"

"Oh, are we back to that again?" asked Christine. "I wouldn't regret it at all. And you wouldn't either, Erik, would you?" She undulated her hips against his, and she smiled at the proof that Erik had to want her just as desperately as she wanted him, no matter what he was saying.

"_Christine_!" Erik bit his lower lip until she saw a bead of blood run down his chin. "Stop that! Stop it! Stop it now, or I'll—"

"Or you'll what?" demanded Christine. "Or you'll do what you wanted to do with me when you where thirty four?"

Erik froze. Something about his expression changed. Christine didn't know what it was, but he suddenly looked different from the way he had at any time since she'd first seen face behind the mirror. _What has changed? Does he look older? Yes… yes, I think that's it._ And suddenly, strangely, Christine felt a little frightened. She loosened her hold on his hands.

He looked up at her. Even though she was still sitting on his chest, she had the distinct feeling that their roles had been reversed without her knowing quite how it had happened. "I suppose my thirty four year old self was strolling down the street as well, as a result of that potion you stole from Meg?" Erik asked softly. "And he had a few tales to tell about what happened that year?"

"Well, uh… yes," said Christine falteringly.

"What exactly did he say?"

"Uh…"

"Answer me, Christine."

Something about his voice was almost frightening her. She was afraid of what would happen if she disobeyed him; there was something in his eyes that had changed, had become darker, filled with secrets from the past, perhaps. She didn't know what this Erik might do to her. And yet… and yet, she didn't want him any less. Christine flushed red as she realized this, looking at him.

"You told me that you wanted me to be to you what I was to Raoul that year," she said. "You said that if I had been, if I'd just stretched my hand out to you, then you might not have fallen into darkness."

"Ah," said Erik. "Ah. I thought so." And for a moment, he looked very sad. Then his gaze sharpened again. "Did I tell you anything else?"

"No," said Christine.

"Really," said Erik. He seemed to think for a moment. Then he rolled her off him and sat up, bringing his knees up and resting his chin on them, looking into the distance.

Christine groaned softly in despair. Unfilled desire was still throbbing through her. She still would have done anything to get Erik to fuck her. But the project didn't seem to be going very well at the moment. She reached out her hand hesitantly. "Erik," she said, feeling her way, "you wanted me that year, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," he muttered.

"Well… you can have me now. You can have now what you wanted then. So why don't you take me now?"

"Because…" He swallowed thickly. "You don't know, Christine, you don't know what was really going on that year."

"I don't understand," she said impatiently. "But Erik, it doesn't matter! You want me now, and I know it, so why don't you—"

He turned to her suddenly. "What if I'd told you that year that I'd wanted you? Would you have come to me then? Would you have offered to me what you're offering now?"

"I—uh—" she fumbled. _Oh, God, what now?_ If she lied, he'd know it; she could tell that. And she couldn't tell the truth, because she would never have done anything with Erik then, she was sure of it. "Uh—it's not as if you _asked_ me—"

"Oh, I see!" said Erik. "So all that I ever needed to do was to _ask_ you to fall into bed with me, Christine. Nice to know that it would have been so easy."

"Of course it wouldn't have been!" she said. "All right, look, I'm not going to lie to you, all right? No. I wouldn't have done anything with you back then, you know that. But that was then, and this is now, and _now_, I want you, so why don't you?"

"So what's changed?" asked Erik, chuckling mirthlessly. "Besides the potion, that is?"

_Oh.__ Shite__, I've got to think of something.__ And yet… and yet…._ "Because now I know that you are a corporeal man!" She gyrated her hips once more to make her point. "I had thought you an angel for so many years and yet now I know you are a living breathing man who I have cared about more than anyone else. Erik, I do think you've changed," said Christine, "but I don't think you were nearly as bad as you make yourself out to be even then. You were caught up in something bigger than yourself, don't you see? Yes, I know—you were forced to kneel before the shah, and to take the Mark. But you never would have done anything truly wrong of your own free will. I simply don't believe that."

"Then you're giving me a lot more credit than I deserve." Erik turned his face away from her so that she could barely see his profile half hidden by the mask. "You don't know… but you have to. You have to. Do you know what really happened?" he demanded. "No, of course you don't, because nobody knows, but I'm going to tell you, Christine, I'm going to tell you what I swore I would never tell anyone. Once, the Shahs men traced me here. It was two, maybe three years ago. They threatened me Christine, they told me if I did not obey they would take the thing I wanted most. You. I was supposed to let the Thieves into my theatre and open the safe for them.

"But you did not do it Erik, so I dont see what-" She interrupted.

"Any of the hundreds living here could have been hurt," continued Erik, as if he hadn't heard her. "Nobody was supposed to be, that wasn't part of the plan; I didn't know that filth Khaled would be there, I swear I didn't, Christine, I didn't know he was going to hurt your friend, but I should have known that anything at all could happen, I suppose. But what nobody knew was that _you_ were supposed to be captured."

"Captured?" echoed Christine.

"Yes. And kept safe, kept of the way, unhurt—"

"So you were only trying to save me—"

"Yes, save you for _myself_ Christine, don't you see? Don't you understand? It was part of the deal. The shah knew how desperately I wanted out of it, by the end; he knew he was losing me, so he threw you in, as well. You were going to be my prize. My reward. You can't imagine how well this wretched cave is shielded by traps and mazes; there'd be no hope of rescue once you were there. You'd have been delivered directly to my rooms. To my bed, Christine." His eyes were fixed on hers. "And then I could have done anything I liked to you, as much as I liked, as long as I liked, as much as I wanted, and there wouldn't have been one damn thing you could have done to stop me. Now, do you still think there's any good in me?"

"But you didn't do it," Christine said weakly.

"Only because the Persians never made it as far as the rooms" said Erik. His voice had taken on a hard note and his eyes flashed iron.

Christine shook her head. "I don't believe it. You still wouldn't have done it."

"How do you know what I would have done?" Erik asked bitterly. "How do _I_ know? All I knew was that I could never, ever have you any other way. Do you know, do you have any _idea_, how many times I dreamed of you lying in my bed, writhing under me, moaning my name, ready for me—"

"Like this?" asked Christine, wriggling.

"Yes, _just_ like that, but not because you wanted to be there. Because you'd be my prisoner, my unwilling prisoner," said Erik, his voice harsh. "You'd never give yourself to me of your own free will, Christine."

"But I will _now_, Erik!" she cried.

"No," he said. "No."

Christine fell back to the bed, defeated. Something sharp jabbed her in the side. For a second, she couldn't imagine what it was. Then she knew._ My key. __It's not still in the bathroom after all. I must've tucked it into the robe without thinking. Oh God, I have a Key!_ And she knew that she had just one chance. She reared up suddenly, like a cobra, grabbed Erik by the neck, and pulled him on top of her. Then she yanked the key out and pressed its tip against his chest. His eyes widened.

"That's not your key," he said in a strange voice.

Christine looked down at it. He was right.

" He looked into her eyes. "Would you really use it on me, Christine?"

She couldn't answer him.

"Have I really driven you to this?"

She couldn't answer that, either.

He grabbed his key from Christine's hand and threw it to the floor with one violent movement and bent his head down so that his face was only a couple of inches from hers. "Tell me again what you want to me to do to you, Christine."

"I want you to take me," she whispered.

"Louder," he said. "I can barely hear you."

"I—I—" He was really beginning to frighten her, but not enough to beat back the desperate, burning need in her body.

"Come on. You were loud enough a few minutes ago. Speak up, Christine."

"I want you to take me!" she yelled.

He groaned savagely, and then something in his face tensed, and changed, and broke, broke completely and utterly, became savage and wild, and his eyes darkened to a fiery molten silver, and he seized Christine's hands and pinned them down to the coverlet so hard that she gasped.

"You win," he said. "I give up. I should never have tried to be anything more than what I am, and there is nothing good in me, Christine, no matter what I thought. So you're going to get your wish. I'm going to do what you asked me for. I'm going to fuck you." She drew in her breath in shock and delight and relief, and opened her mouth to speak, but he clamped his hand over it. "And don't you say a goddamn _word_ until I'm through telling you exactly what I'm going to do, Christine. Are you going to be quiet?"

She nodded. He removed the hand.

"I'm going to fuck you senseless," said Erik, leaning over her even further and pressing her into the bed. "I'm going to fuck you harder than you ever even imagined you could be fucked. I'm going to fuck you until you forget your name and have to scream mine, I'm going to fuck you until you can't crawl out of my bed and have to take up permanent residence there, I'm going to fuck you until you become a tangled sweaty shivering mass of liquid ecstasy, and then we'll take a short coffee break and start all over again. I'm going to bring you to orgasms that will make you see ancient Scandinavian gods and forgotten Sumerian heroes, Christine. I'm going to make you come in positions that will send convulsions of unimaginable pleasure to the very end of your toenails. I guarantee that you've never seen a cock like mine—you may find it necessary to fall down and worship it briefly, but don't take too long, because I'm throbbing and aching and starving for you, Christine, you're a nineteen-course Feast and every other experience has been a stale cracker at best—and you're going to ride it like a crazed native American. In short, you're going to find out what it's like to be fucked by a Monster. How does that sound for starters?"

_Heavenly__.._ She tried to say, but Erik didn't give her the chance.

"I'm going to do everything I dreamed of doing to you when the Shah would have delivered you to me the summer when I was thirty four, and you'd better believe that I spent night after night after sleepless night down here planning it out. Now get this damn shirt off me." He released her hands.

She reached up and undid the buttons with trembling fingers, easing it off his shoulders. His bare chest was just as perfect as she had imagined. She traced the flawless interplay of muscles, the broad shoulders, her fingers skating down to his taut abdomen, and Erik closed his eyes briefly. "Now the trousers," he said.

Christine gulped. She slipped the laces and pulled them apart. The tailoring really was extremely snug, and the green silken undershorts revealed beneath seemed rather evil in their own right, in an understated way. Her fingers brushed against the large bulge in front, and Erik groaned intensely.

"Oh, no," he said. "That's the last time you'll have your hands free in awhile, sweetheart." He grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the bed. Then he smirked at her, and it was the smirk she remembered so well from Hogwarts. Keep your arms there," he said softly. "Don't move them." He walked a few steps away, picked up a coil of rope, and then moved back towards her with the grace of a dancer and the stealth of a panther, and she shivered with arousal and just a trace of fear.

"I seem to remember certain comments you made about being tied to my bed, Christine. I really hope you meant what you said." He picked up the rope and started wrapping it into taught knots..

"Did you know I was an accomplished assassin for three years, Christine?" he asked her.

She stared at him.

"When I ask you a question," he said, "I expect an answer."

"No!" she gasped. There was something about his voice that was like a sharp, deep pinch between her legs. "I didn't know, how would I know?"

"No, you wouldn't. Oh, there are so many things you don't know about me, Christine. For instance…" He walked behind her, so that she couldn't see him. She turned, starting to bring her arms down to her side, and his hands came down on her wrists like iron bands.

"Keep your arms up where I put them." His voice was dark and velvety with just a hint of menace.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"

"I won't matter soon," said Erik. "You see, Christine, I was about to tell you something you didn't know about me. He leaned over her, and she saw his face from below. _Between that look on__ Erik 's __face and the fact that he just reminded me that I told him he could tie me to his bed if he liked and do anything he wanted with me, or, well, at least I told him that before he got that look on his face,_Christine thought for one objective moment, _I really ought to be absolutely terrified. But I'm not at all. Huh. I wonder why not?_

"I won the shahs favour many a time for my swift efficiency." he said softly, stretching out his fingers, skimming them across the skin of her arms, watching her skin shiver and the tiny fine hairs rise at the sensation. "You're doing a good job of keeping still…. Do you know why?"

"No." Christine had a feeling that she was about to find out.

"For my expertise with the Punjab Lasso," he said. "Or more commonly, the noose. Horrid I know, but this is what you want. You want a murderer and a monster so that is what I shall give you. But no, there shall be no nooses for you, something more simple just to hold you down..." His voice trailed away.

Christine moaned and stretched her arms up towards him almost before he had finished his sentence. She decided that it sounded like a _remarkably_ fine idea.


	5. Chapter 5

hanks to all the reviewers,

The reasons these chapters are getting updated so fast is that the last semester of school is OVER! YAY! (Anna runs around and throws confetti.) So writing this story is a special treat for me. Along with lots of riding and baskin Robbins.. :) However, the pace will probably slow down a bit now. This chapter… this chapter… (Anna picks up her cell phone.)

Lucifer: Hello, Satan speaking.

Anna: Hi, this is Anna. I was just wondering if…

Lucifer: Don't tell me, let me guess. You just finished putting the finishing touches on Chapter 4 and 5 of _The Phantom Effect_, and now you're figuring that you might as well just reserve your place in hell.

Anna: (dropping the phone) How did you know?

Lucifer: Erik's my ninety-eighth cousin fourteen times removed, remember?

Anna: Oh… right… In the Annaverse, it's all connected.

Lucifer: Someplace with a view of the lake of fire might be nice.

Anna: Okay, this is just getting too weird. (presses 'end'.)

Anyway, the point is, this chapter richly earns a whatever-the-rating-past-NC-17 is, as does the next one.

+++

Erik picked up his rope from the floor and wrapped it along the wooden frame of the bed above Christine's arms. "_Funis" _He murmured_._ He pulled the ropes tightly around Christine's wrists. "Don't move," he said. "I know it's difficult. But soon, you won't need to try to hold still." He traced the tip rope over the sensitive skin of her wrist. "That will be easier on you, Christine."

It would be easier because she would be bound to his bed, naked, helpless, completely and utterly at his mercy. Christine realized it in a flash.

"Bowlines here, I think," said Erik, and the ropes looped around and around her wrists, pulling them up towards the head of the bed. He ran the rope down her arms all the way to her shoulders, and the ropes followed. "Now… Klemheist knots at your elbows, bring it around, a double fisherman's knot right here… my, my, I thought I'd forgotten that one. Try to pull your hands down, Christine," said Erik.

She couldn't. Her arms were fastened securely to the bed, from wrist to shoulder. She could still move her fingers, but that was all.

"Nice to know all those decedent feasts in my honour didn't go to waste after all," murmured Erik. "Now…"

She hadn't been able to see what he was doing when he was at the head of the bed, but then he moved around to the foot, tapping the rope end against one hand, and, oh, God, the _look_ on his face… a deep, deep shiver went through Christine, fear and desire mixed so deeply that she couldn't possibly tell the two apart. He ran his hands along her ankles and up her calves to the knee, then up her thighs, pushing the bathrobe up further and further, exposing her silk pantaloons. She made a small, trapped noise in her throat.

"Shh," said Erik. "That was just the beginning." The ropes hesitated just below her feet, seemingly waiting to follow his lead. "Spread your legs for me, Christine."

She wanted to obey him. She really did. But her mind seemed to be spinning in steaming, throbbing circles, and she could only look up at him helplessly.

"Then I'll have to do it for you," he said. He stroked his soft up the insides of her ankles, and her legs were firmly and steadily parted.

"Oh!" Christine gave an involuntary cry.

"Wider," said Erik softly. "I want to see you. Yes. That's good. Clove hitches here." The ropes went round and round her ankles, binding them to the bed. He traced his fingers up to her knees. "Sheep shanks… and… yes…" Gently, inexorably, his hands moved up and up. "Double shell bends." She felt his hands on her legs, and then they moved round where the ropes followed. His fingers paused at her creamy inner thighs, less than an inch from the edge of the pantaloons.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you now?" he asked.

"N-no," said Christine.

Very deliberately, he reached down and grabbed one side of the bathrobe with each of his hands. He pulled the sides apart until the fabric tore. Christine gave a little cry of fear; she couldn't help it. She was wearing only her silk and lace chemise and a pair of silk pantaloons now. Then she felt his hands on either side of her chest, holding the silk, and she heard a tearing sound. She felt the cooler air of the room on her bare breasts. His hands moved down to her pantaloons. His fingers moved against her hips, grasping the cloth. Then he ripped the silk to shreds as well and pulled the scraps aside. She was completely exposed to him.

Surely this was when her maidenly modesty was supposed to kick in, she was supposed to shriek and cover herself in shame. This man was not her husband, what they were about to do, as delicious as it sounded, was a sin against god and the church. But yet, she wanted this more than anything.

"Now, struggle," she heard him say.

"What?" she asked. Her voice sounded very faint.

"Struggle as hard as you can. Fight against those ropes and all those knots."

"But I can't get away."

"I know you can't," said Erik, "but I want to see it, Christine. Now obey me."

She arched her back and pulled against the ropes as hard as she could, trying to pull down her arms to cover her exposed breasts, to close her legs, to buck up her hips. She couldn't move anything. Erik leaned down closer to her and looked her up and down, lingering on her exposed breasts, his gaze sliding down between her legs. She was totally helpless, totally open to him, if he reached out his hand to touch her she could do nothing to stop him, and oh God, he was only a few inches away from her.

"Good god," he murmured. "You really couldn't get away from me, could you?"

"No."

"Are you trying as hard as you can? Come on, Christine, is that all you've got?" He raised an eyebrow.

With a flush of indignation, Christine made a renewed effort, throwing all her energy into pulling and pushing against the ropes. She could move her arms and legs a few inches at first, and then a bit less, and less, and the harder she tried, the more tightly she was restrained. Realization dawned on her. "Erik! The more I struggle, the tighter the knots get!"

"I was wondering when you'd catch on to that," he said softly.

She bit her lip, looking up at him, a sob beginning to rise in her throat. "Oh, God, what are you going to do?" He came towards her, and she gasped in panic when she could not move any part of her arms a single inch.

"Shhh," he said soothingly, running a hand over her wrists and arms, ankles and legs, adjusting the ropes at her hips. "It doesn't hurt, does it? Christine, concentrate, come back to the moment for me, will you do that? Tell me if the knots hurt you."

"They, they, they, no, they don't, "hiccupped Christine.

Erik laid a hand on her chest, above her breasts, in a strangely chaste gesture. "Breathe in and out, Christine," he said. "Take one deep breath, and then another, and another. Now, listen to me. I didn't tie you up so that I could torture you in some evil sadistic way. That's not the sort of thing I planned for you during all those sleepless nights in my bed during that miserable summer, when I would have given anything I had or could get to have you with me. I would not do such a thing to you. Do you believe me?"

Slowly, she nodded.

"But, I…" He hesitated. "I want to do things with you that I'm sure nobody has ever done, Christine. I've dreamed of these things for so long… longer than you can know…"His eyes were darkening again. "I wanted this, I needed this, I felt like something in me would die if I couldn't have it, and I thought that something _had_ died, Christine, and now I don't think it's quite dead after all… but it has no right to live, it never did… and I don't have any right to ask you to give me what I need, but I'm doing it anyway- _will_ you, Christine? Will you?"

"Yes, yes! I want you to, I said I would, please, Erik!" said Christine. "Anything you want, anything you like, anything at all… I was just frightened for a moment… I'm all right now…."

Erik laughed without humour. "You mean you were sane for a moment, and you're back to temporary insanity now. And if I wanted to be redeemed from it, I would save you from yourself, Christine, but it's too late for that, too late for you and too late for me. So now, I'm taking what I want from you."

"I don't understand, Erik," said Christine. "I'll give you anything you want, I told you that. But it doesn't matter now, anyway. Just tell me, please, just look at me now, and tell me- Is this… is this how you imagined it?" she panted. "Me, tied to your bed, so tightly that I could never begin to get away from you and _I don't want to_, Erik, I don't want to at all, and whatever you want to do to me, whatever you like, I'm yours!"

"Oh, gods, and we're cast back into the madness," groaned Erik. "Yes. Yes. Exactly how I imagined it. Christine… sort of… try to pull your legs together again, try harder… ohhhh… you can't close them a bit, can you? You're spread open for me all the way. Shite!" He reached down and fumbled, adjusting himself. "I didn't think I could get any harder, but I am."

His words sent a shameful rush of moisture through her inner walls, down to her exposed sex. She heard him suck in his breath.

"Christine…" he muttered. "You're so wet…"

Her face burned. Erik could actually _see_ her reactions to him!

"Have I made you that way?" he asked.

"Yes," she said honestly.

The expression on his face changed to something that she would never have imagined possible when he was looking at her naked and tied to his bed in front of him. The way he was looking at her was almost tender. Almost gentle.

"Ah," he said softly. "You're so beautiful like this, Christine. I imagined this moment a thousand times, but I didn't know that you'd be _so_ beautiful. Yet I am so hideous."

He kept looking at her. She stirred restlessly. The movement made her breasts bobble back and forth, and his gaze turned from gentle to predatory. He got up, and his hands moved to the waist of his leather trousers. Christine drew in her breath.

"Yes, yes," she said eagerly, "now, Erik, I'm ready, take me now."

He turned slowly, and he looked at her again in that way that almost frightened her. "We're doing this my way, remember?"

"I—yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Erik. I'm sorry."

"That's better."

"But, please," she moaned. "Don't make me beg…"

"Mouthy, aren't you?" he said. "Oh you're going to beg, Christine. You're going to beg harder and longer for that little piece of insolence." He ran his fingers down her entire body, neck to breasts to waist to thighs to calves. She moaned and tried desperately to push herself up at him. "Come on… I want to hear you…" he said huskily. "Beg me…"

"Please, Erik, _please_."

"Gods, I love hearing that!" he said, straightening up again. "Oh, yes, you're going to beg me for it, over and over, until the waiting's almost driven you mad."

She whimpered pitifully.

He bent down to whisper in her ear. "Shh, it's all right, Christine. It's all part of the game. It sharpens the pleasure. You have no idea how much. You're going to come so hard for me… hasn't anyone ever done _anything_ like this for you before? No? Mmmhm, I love that idea. I'll make all your begging and all your waiting worthwhile, don't worry about that."

He turned back, away from her, and the trousers slipped off. For the first time, Christine got a full view of Erik 's arse. He threw her a look over his shoulder, and his mouth twisted upwards into a smile. "Speechless, I see." She nodded, because she was.

"But you haven't seen the half of it," he said, coming towards her.

Because of her position on the bed and because she couldn't really move an inch in any direction, Christine still couldn't. She could only see above Erik's waist. But then he turned all the way round and moved up, and Christine saw all of him for the first time. _Oh, dear gracious God, heavens above,_ she thought.

"Yes?" he asked, coming towards her.

"It's…." she tried to say. "It's… uh…."

"Well, it's a trait," he said, with a remarkable lack of modesty. "But that's why I'm not going to just climb on top of you and start banging away, Christine. I'm going to make you ready for me every way I know how." He leaned over. " I won't hurt you," he murmured. "Not that way... at least, not in that way."

"I can't believe that you would hurt me, ever," she whispered.

His face convulsed, as if in unimaginable pain. "Christine. Christine, don't say that. Don't ever say that. You make it sound as if I'm good, and I'm not, I told you, I'm not, if I was good, I wouldn't be doing this to you—"

"But I want it," she whispered. "I want you. I want you so much, Erik."

He groaned. Then he kissed her thoroughly, exploring her mouth with his delicious dark-chocolate slippery tongue. She sighed, giving herself up to that kiss, letting it go through her every nerve; she shivered when he moved on to her neck, her throat, her upper chest; she whimpered when he moved on to the top of her chest. His hands moved up to cup her breasts. She watched as if hypnotized as his fingers moved towards her nipples; she made little moaning noises when he gently brushed each peak and they stiffened, and then he bent his head and took each one in his mouth in turn, expertly rolling and pinching the other between his fingertips, and she threw her head back and cried out. The sensation shot through her every nerve, and she tried desperately to pump her hips up at him, but he kept himself carefully away from her lower body and she couldn't move her hips more than a fraction of an inch anyway; she longed to get her hands free and wrap them around his back, but, of course, she couldn't. The restrictions only intensified the feelings of pleasure to near-unbearable pitch.

He suckled harder and harder on each nipple, biting lightly, and his hands explored the rest of her body, lingering on every inch of her arms, her hands, her waist, her stomach, her thighs, her calves, the arches of her feet, moving slowly back up and up while Christine whimpered louder and louder.

"Please, please touch me there," she finally begged.

"Hmmm… where's 'there'?" he asked, raising his head for a moment.

"Oh… well.. .you know…." She made a helpless gesture with the fingers of one hand above her head.

"For a girl who was begging me to fuck her a few minutes ago, you're not being very specific," said Erik. "Perhaps you've changed your mind entirely."

"No!" exclaimed Christine. "Please… please… Erik…"

"Then you're going to have to say it. Say it or I won't touch you, Christine. Tell me where you want me, Christine." His silvery eyes bored into hers. "Yes, I know, good girls don't say it, good girls don't use that word, but a good girl wouldn't have let me tie her to my bed, a good girl wouldn't be moaning under me, a good girl wouldn't be wet and ready for me, would she? So you'd better say it, Christine…" He moved forward for the first time and ground his hips against hers, suddenly, shockingly. Christine gasped. It felt like he had touched her with fire. She felt his huge hardness against her for a second, so fleetingly that she barely felt it at all, and then it was gone, horribly gone.

"You can have that, Christine," he purred. "You can have all of it. You can be filled with me. Soon. Don't you want to feel that?"

"Yes!"

"But you have to be ready first. So you have to tell me where you want me to touch you."

"I—I—" Christine gulped. "I want you to touch my cunt, Erik! There, I said it, and I'm going to hell! Oh, God, I want your hands all over my cunt, I want you to suck on my clit, I want you to make me come, I want—"

"Ah, that's my bad girl," said Erik, and he laid one of his hands very very lightly over the cloud of dark hair between her legs. Christine gave a wail of disappointment. "I thought you were going to—"

"Not quite yet. There's something else you have to do first."

"What?"

"Beg me for it," said Erik, and his eyes were as dark as molten iron. "I want to hear you beg me some more. I told you I would."

"_Why?_"

"Because that's what I always imagined during that horrible summer. You weren't there, Christine. I didn't have you. But I knew that I almost did, that you were almost there with me, that you might have been my captive, my prize, my reward. You could have been in my bed, and this is the way I always imagined you…. begging me to touch you… so beg me."

"Please," she whispered.

He shook his head. "Not enough, not nearly enough."

"Please, Erik, please—"

"It hurts, doesn't it? You're desperate for me, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes, please, I need your hands all over my cunt, on me, in me, everything, everywhere—"

"Ah, but what if I never touched you?" he asked.

Her eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn't," she whispered.

"Think if I didn't. Think if all you could do was imagine it, Christine, night after night," he said harshly, "just dream and dream and dream of having me, knowing that you could never have me, and you'll start to understand what it was like for me, wanting you! But I _won't_ do that to you—shh, shh, don't cry. Just beg me a bit more, because I love to hear it, you can't imagine how much, I never, never thought I'd hear your voice begging me. Beg me to make you come, Christine—"

"Please, Erik, please, make me come for you, I want to come for you, I want you to watch me come, I want-"

"Yes," he said, his voice harsh. "Keep saying that, Christine, keep saying it, keep begging me, I want to hear you beg, and then I want to hear you scream!"

"Please, please, please, oh, God, Erik, yes, please—" Christine babbled, and somewhere in the middle of her desperate pleading, Erik moved down and spread her wide with the fingers of one hand. Christine tried desperately to pump her hips forward. Erik held the other hand up.

"Where do you want this?" he demanded.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut briefly. "In my cunt," she said in a rush.

He began to slide one of his long, knobbly fingers into her. "Fuck! So wet, so ready, and so incredibly tight. Sweet Merlin, and I'm going to feel this around me. Mmmm, Christine, do you want all of it?"

"Yes… yes…. All the way into my cunt…"

His finger disappeared into her, and his head lowered, and he gave a long, deliberate lick all the way from the bottom of her clit to the top with his tongue, and then another, and another, and another. The sensations clenched and clenched and built and gathered and rushed together into the first contractions of a deeply satisfying orgasm, and then Erik turned his finger and crooked it backwards, pressing against a little button inside Christine that had never been touched, and she closed her eyes and threw her head backwards and gave a long, sighing, wordless wail. She heard him swear violently under his breath, and she felt a stinging ache as he pulled his finger out of her, mixed with the last shivers of her climax.

"I have to," he said in a low, jerky voice. "Can't wait. Can't. Christine, I have to, I have to take you now, _now_, I'll die if I don't, I have to be inside you, now, _now_-"

There was something Erik should know. Something she ought to tell him. At that moment, though, she really couldn't remember what. And he was fairly sure that she'd die, too, if he didn't fuck her, so whatever it was, it couldn't matter much.

He pulled the ropes from her ankles and pulled her legs up at the knees, and he fell into the cradle they made. She spread herself even wider for him; her arms were free now, too, and she wrapped them round his back. It was all happening so quickly that she scarcely knew what was going on, but he shifted himself, and then he was between her legs and moving down and down, in, towards her, his face coming closer and closer to hers, oh, she was so close to him now, almost there! And then suddenly, she felt an awful, splintering pain. Her entire body convulsed, and she started crying. Erik's face filled with shock. He pulled back from her.

"What the hell is this?"he demanded.

"I… I don't know…." Christine crossed her arms over her chest. He was looking at her as if he was angry with her. She didn't know what had gone wrong. They had been so close one moment; he had been touching her, on top of her, moving inside of her, she had been feeling such pleasure and passion, so close to fulfilment, and then there had suddenly been that pain and he had moved away from her.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. It just hurt. It really, really hurt."

Erik looked at her closely. Recognition seemed to be dawning in his eyes. "Christine. Tell me the truth. Are you… are you still a virgin?"

She looked down, away from him. "Yes." Then she gasped, because his hands were on her again, holding her so hard that his grasp was almost painful. He was scanning her face, her eyes, as if looking for something that she might have showed him, if she only knew what it was.

"Christine, are you all right? Are you, ah… back to yourself?"

She thought about that. "Well, yes, but it's just for now. I think it's just that the pain surprised me. I mean, when I saw you, I should have known it was going to hurt, but I wasn't really in any shape to think. I imagine I'll be back in that state soon enough. Insanely begging you to fuck me, I mean."

"So if I deliver you back to your rooms right now, you still have a chance to regain your sanity?" he asked.

A wave of fear went through Christine. She clutched onto his arm. "No," she said. "Please, Erik, please, don't do that. I still want you. I still need you."

Erik dropped his eyes from hers. "I'm such a completely selfish monster," he muttered. "I know what I should do, and I won't."

"No, you shouldn't," insisted Christine. "I mean—" She hesitated. A very unwelcome idea had popped into her head. "Is it that I'm not experienced enough for you?"

Erik shook his head. "I've never had a woman before."

"Oh." So that _was_ it. "I'm sorry—I—I didn't realize—"

He turned to her with a suddenness that made her gasp. "Christine, it's not what you're thinking. Nothing like it. You don't know, you don't have the least idea—"

"Then tell me."

Erik licked his lips. He began to speak in a low, rapid voice. "All right. Fine. You asked for it. Just remember that, Christine. During that hideous summer when you were sixteen, when I was trapped in these caverns entirely on my own, when I spent every minute of every day wishing I was dead and every night wishing that you were in my rooms and in my bed, when I imagined making love to you every way I could think of, I always, _always_ imagined that when you first came to me, when we first started out, you were a virgin. I imagined that you hadn't given yourself to that _Vicomte_ or anyone else, but that you gave yourself to me, Christine. Freely. Willingly. And I imagined how it would be…" There a look of longing on his face that struck pain into Christine's heart.

But then he shook his head. "And I knew it was impossible. I knew you must have already been in Raoul's bed, and the gods only knew who else's, even then. I hardly thought that a girl as sensual as you would have held herself back from having as many suitors as she could get, and why should you? Nothing wrong with that. Except for… ugh… Raoul, I think I'd rather that you laid with every stagehand in this theatre, all the actors, and managers than Raoul. So I knew that what I wanted could never be."

"But it can be, Erik," said Christine. She reached forward and took his hand. "I never did anything much with Raoul, or with anyone else either, or after, if it comes to that. You know that now. You know that none of them ever touched me, not really. Not my body, not my…" _Heart,_ she almost said before stopping herself just in time. "You know that you can have exactly what you always wanted, Erik. I'll give it to you now."

"You could still get out of here, you know," groaned Erik. "Last chance, Christine." But his voice no longer held the slightest trace of conviction. She knew that he would not let her go now.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Okay, that's it, I'm just leaving a whole pile of review crowns here and everybody can pick one. :) We've got diamonds,emeralds, rubies, sapphires... I really like the tanzanite ones...

Now, on to chapter 6. This chapter... This chapter. Oh dear Lord. Ahem, let's just say that it's the first one Christine has been waiting for, but not the last. Erik too. Some chapters in this fic have got to be the… NC-17iest things I think I've ever written, and that's saying…. A lot. This one starts to get a little darker too. Y'all have been warned. BTW, yes, the ADoS (Anna Definition of Short) guarantee is still in place. I really do mean it!  
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Christine groaned in exasperation. She had already forgotten all about the momentary pain she had felt at their last attempt. That throbbing, aching desire was rearing its merciless head again, driving her to finish what she and Erik had so deliciously begun. She looked his perfectly sinfully gorgeous naked body up and down, and sighed. She felt as if she had been crawling through the desert for days on end, starved and parched with thirst, and had finally reached a glorious oasis that stubbornly kept scooting away from her, which was exactly what Erik was not-very-effectively trying to do now. She took him by the shoulders and tried to turn him towards her.

"Erik… Erik, look at me. You _know_ how this is going to end. So do I. I'm going mad from waiting, are you really going to leave me like this? And you want it as much as I do or even more, so why can't you just-"

"I know how this would end if I had anything in me that was decent, anything that was good," he muttered. "I would throw your arse out of here and never let you come near me again."

"You're being ridiculous!" she snapped.

He gave a long sigh, and she was sure she heard his resolve weakening, but then he spoke, and she felt a sudden surge of dread. "No… no, I'm not, Christine. And you think you understand why, but you don't."

"What I _understand_, Erik, is that you could be fucking me right this minute. We're wasting time." She bit his earlobe, smiling devilishly when she heard him groan uncontrollably.

"Is this about that stupid potion again?" she asked. "Are we back to that rubbish? Because if we are, Erik then I will be forced to slap you. All right, so I took the potion! I didn't know what it was, and neither did you! It doesn't matter." She turned his head so that she could look into his eyes. "Just take advantage of it now, all right? Just—just—" Christine groped for the right words. "Just take advantage of _me_!"

_Oh dear,_, she thought, just a second too late. _That didn't come out right at all. I really don't like the sound of it._

Erik's jaw dropped, and she saw the horror in his eyes. A second too late, she knew that he was right. She _didn't_ understand why he was torn between his desperate longing for her and his desperate fear of giving in to his own desires, but it was not because of any potion. Whatever the real reason was, he fought a tortuous, endless war with it as it rose again and again from the darkness of his own past. And somehow, blindly, unknowingly, she had stumbled right over it, and she herself had resurrected it from Erik's worst nightmares.

"I—I _can't_," he said.

"Why?"

"I won't tell you."

"Why not?" demanded Christine, wiping her face savagely with the back of her hand. _Idiot, idiot._. "Some stupid, noble reason?"

"Noble reason?" snarled Erik. "We're talking about _me_ here, Christine; I don't do things for _noble_ reasons. There are things you don't understand, things from the past, things you don't know about and you should be glad you don't—"

She stabbed a finger in his chest. She could hardly concentrate on his words.

"You won't explain anything to me, Erik, that sounds stupid enough—"

"Look, you don't _want_ me to explain these things to you!" He grabbed both of her hands and held them in his. "I won't do that to you, Christine; I won't put the things in your head that I've had forced into mine."

"But you'll kick me out of your home and let me wander about on the theatre like this. For stupid… stupid, stupid, stupid, and, yes, probably noble reasons…" Flashes from the past were mixing themselves up in Christine's mind, all from that awful night at the end of her summer after her sixthteenth year, the night she had finished the solo lead in _Hannibal_ and Raoul had seen it. He had looked at her and his eyes had been so remote, those brilliant green eyes had looked past her and not seen her at all, and for the first time, she had admitted to herself what she had always known, that he had never really seen her at all, but she had been too stubborn to admit it at first, and she had held onto her schoolgirl crush on Raoul for too long. _Raoul, Raoul, please, it can't be over, no, I'll do anything,_ she had begged him, and her cheeks burned with the humiliation of it now, with the memory of the foolish sixteen-year-old girl she had been. _No_, he had told her, holding her away from him. _It wouldn't be right, Christine. I don't feel that way about you._ And Raoul had left her. She had been profoundly thankful afterwards, she had thanked all the gods there were that he hadn't taken her up on her offer, but the shame of it had never left her.

"Why do you keep saying that?" asked Erik. "Why are you even using my name and the word 'noble' in the same sentence, Christine?"

She had started to cry even though she wished desperately that she hadn't, but she tried to get up anyway. Erik wanted her to leave. She still had a scrap of pride, so she would have to leave. Iron bands closed around her wrist.

"Stop crying, Christine. Just where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Out," she hiccupped.

"To do _what_?" demanded Erik.

"Get away. You don't want me," she said.

"Oh. I see. If you want to find someone _noble_, as you put it," said Erik, "then I suppose you're on a quest for Raoul."

Christine started laughing; she couldn't help it, the image was too hideously incongruous, too many light-years away from anything she wanted now. Erik's face darkened as suddenly as if night had fallen over both of them. "And he's probably skulking around trying to find _you_! I saw him round my theatre far too often over the last few weeks and it's always been right after your rehearsals finish. He didn't have any business being there, what has that- that boy been doing there? Do you know? You answer me, Christine!"

Christine realized that the fang of jealousy was biting Erik in his perfect arse. "I don't know," she said as innocently as she could, considering that her lust-crazed brain was screaming at her to discard clever stratagems and just make a sudden grab for Erik's cock, which still looked suspiciously erect, if you asked her. "I suppose I've seen him, now that you mention it, Erik." She _had_ been glimpsing Raoul in the corridors whenever she'd visited Erik at for her lessons after rehearsal. Once she had even heard him shout her name before bolting into her dressing room and sliding back the mirror. But she decided that it could serve her purposes very well for the moment if she wasn't exactly clear on that point.

"I wonder if Raoul would like to have coffee some afternoon," she said. You know, maybe he _is_ hanging round outside, come to think of it. He might have seen me come in here. I'm not sure where he lives… it could be quite near here, I suppose… it must be five o'clock or so by now, what a lovely time it would be for some nice, hot coffee, don't you think?"

"You're not going out there!" yelled Erik. "You're staying right here with me in this bed!"

"Oh, really?" asked Christine. "You're going to try to stop me?"

"You're fucking right I am!" He backed her against the headboard, and his face was dead-white and filled with menace and lust and an absolutely possessive desire. "I am not letting you out on that street so that you can go and find Raoul and _fuck_ him! He had his chance and he didn't take you when he could have and I thank _Lucifer_ for it, and I'll have to make some sacrifices later, I suppose, or at least invite him round for tea. So now it's _my_ turn, you're _mine,_ all mine, and—uh, I mean—uh—"

Something fluttered deliciously between her legs. _I've got him! Oh, I've got him._ She leaned into his sweaty chest and heard his heart thumping. "Look at me," she said. "I'm naked, Erik. I'm ready for you. I'm just as ready as I was ten minutes ago. I'm still hot and wet for you, I still ache for you, I'm still hungry for you to fuck me—so why don't you tell me what you thought about night after night in your rooms? What were you going to do the first time you fucked me, Erik? Because you can do it now, you can show me now, you can have me now—"

He turned and swung her round in his arms and slammed her down to the bed with the frightening suddenness she had seen in him earlier, and his face and voice were feral again, like a wild animal, dangerous. "Too late," he said. "Christine, Christine. You pushed me too far. I tried to warn you. I really did. But now it's too late. I've planned this," he whispered, "planned it in every exquisite detail…" He picked up rope. "You can't have your arms free just yet," he said, "soon, though, and I want you to keep your hips down for now." He tapped her wrists again, and her hips, and she felt them both bound to the bed once more. He looked down at her in a predatory, possessive way, and she felt just the tiniest flutter of fear in her stomach.

"Mmmm," he said. "You look exactly the way I always imagined you. Ready and waiting for me, Christine."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Are you afraid?"

"Do you want me to be?"

"Not of me. Never of me." He leaned down to her and ran his hands between her legs, hard, spreading her with his fingers.

"Ohhhh…" moaned Christine, arching her back. "Now, Erik? Now?"

"Just a bit longer. You want me, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, _yes_."

"So much that it hurts, doesn't it?" he whispered huskily in her ear.

"Please… don't make me wait much longer…" she begged.

"I won't. I promise. There's just one thing, Christine, one thing that I always imagined you'd do for me first, will you?"

"But then, Erik, then, after that—"

He put his lips right next to her ear, and she shivered at the feel of their wetness on her skin. "Then I'll fuck you, Christine."

"Of course, of course," she babbled, knowing that she'd agree to just about anything at that moment.

"He crawled over her as gracefully as a cat. She felt his throbbing cock graze her shins, her thighs, slide briefly between her legs, up her stomach, and nestle between her breasts for a moment. Then, very slowly, he moved the tip up between her lips.

"Open your mouth," he said. She did.

"Have you ever done this for anyone else?" he asked.

"No."

His smile was dark and gleeful. "Good. I hoped you hadn't. I wanted to be your first in this, as well. I'll guide you, I'll tell you what you need to know. Just open wide." Christine obeyed him, opening her mouth as wide as she could, and she felt him push forward. She inhaled deeply. The smell of him was very delicious, like musk and chocolate mixed.

"Now run your tongue under the head—oh, _fuck_, yes!"

She could feel him harden even further as she did so. She traced the little veins and convolutions that made the hard shaft uniquely Erik's own, she licked him like an ice cream cone, and she swirled her tongue round and round.

"Now suck me," he said hoarsely. He prodded at her lips. "Christine, you're really going to have to open your mouth wide. You can do it."

She took a deep breath and took him in. _God, but he's big! How is this supposed to work-_ But then he groaned helplessly, and she snuck an upwards look at his face, sweaty and delirious-looking, and a delicious surge of power ran through her. _She_ had brought him to this. And she was going to see even more amazing looks on his face when he was actually inside her, what a thought _that_ was… (_although how in Merlin's name that thing is supposed to fit inside anyone, I really can't imagine. Well, Erik said he had a plan, and it had better be a good one!_) But as she sucked him and sucked him, her mouth relaxing more and more, taking him in further and further, breathing in the smell and taste of him, the throbbing between her legs seemed to spread throughout her entire body, and she no longer cared, or thought about how it would work, because it would, it had to.

"Stop," he said tightly, and he pulled out of her mouth. He brought his face down so that it was level with hers.

"Ouch," she said, wincing. She could feel now just how widely she had really been holding her mouth open to take him in. He reached up and rubbed her jaw gently on both sides. "Erik, didn't you like—" she began to ask.

"Oh, yes, Christine, too much. That's why I couldn't let you go on."

"But Erik…" she said hesitantly. Again, the bit of discomfort had brought her back to herself just a bit. "It's just so… _big_. How is this going to work? I mean, if you have to hurt me—" She squirmed. "I need this, I need you, I have to be fucked by you, if there's pain, I can take it, but—"

Erik shook his head. "Christine, that's why I'm taking so long with you, don't you see? I'm going to make you ready for me. I'll do everything I can. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Christine said. Then she couldn't quite look at him, because this felt like the most intimate thing they had shared yet. He'd had his hands all over her and had made her scream in orgasm for him, and she'd had him in her mouth, and she'd begged him to fuck her all afternoon long and they were finally about to do it, but when she told Erik that she trusted him about anything at all, she could not look at him.

"I've been thinking about this for years," said Erik, his voice dropping very low, his eyes darkening, "dreaming, hoping, wishing, but never, never, never believing it could happen… and now, Christine, now, I'm going to take your virginity, exactly the way I've always planned. Your first time is _mine_. Say it. Say that you're taking me as your first."

"I'm taking you as my first, Erik," whispered Christine.

"Willingly?"

"Yes, yes. Willingly. Erik, please—" Christine shifted restlessly. "I need you—it's really hurting, I have to have you. I don't want to be a virgin anymore. I want to give it up to you, I want you to be the first, I wouldn't want anyone else, please, please—"

"Good enough," said Erik. "It will have to be good enough." He moved down between her legs very slowly, her eyes on hers the entire time. He tapped her wrists and he drew Christine's arms down, around his back. She closed her eyes, savoring the simple, delicious feeling of her arms around him.

"No, open your eyes, Christine," he said. "I want to see you now. Here. Put your hands like this—" He moved her fingers into the small of his back. "When you start to feel pain, I want you to dig your nails into me. You can scratch the hell out of my back if you want to. Don't be afraid to do it, Christine." She nodded. That flutter of fear was expanding.

He reached forward and adjusted himself. "Spread your legs just a bit more." Her feet and legs were completely free now, but her lower body was still fastened to the bed.

"Will you let me get my hips up?" asked Christine.

"No, not yet. If you move too much, this might hurt more than it has to. I'll let you loose at the very end. Just trust me, all right? I've… uh… thought this out in every detail." He smiled crookedly at her, and Christine felt oddly shy.

She tried to smile; tears were prickling her eyelids. She nodded.

Erik fell silent. So did she. In the stillness, she felt his hips move under her hands, forward and down, and then she felt him probing her, opening her. She drew in her breath. So did he.

"Relax," he said. "I'm just barely inside you. Gods, but how wet you are! Even this… just this…" He squeezed his eyes shut briefly.

"It feels good?" she asked.

"You can't imagine," said Erik.

He moved forward just slightly, bit by bit, and Christine bit her lip. It didn't really hurt, not yet, but it was like nothing she'd ever felt. Then he reached down, between them, and deliberately pinched her clit between two of his long, talented fingers. She gasped in surprise.

"Good?"

"Oh… oh, God, yes!" Shivers of pleasure ran through her as he rolled her sensitive flesh back and forth. "I'm going to come, Erik, it isn't going to take long, I'm going to come for you again, I want to—"

"Yes," he said hoarsely, and he moved his fingers expertly up and down. "That's what I want, another orgasm for you at exactly the right moment, it's just how I planned it… if I can just hold out… I didn't know it would be this hard, but I'll manage it somehow, Christine, I promise I will, I swear…"

She could feel the first tingling ripples sweep through her, and she knew that she was very close to another orgasm. "I'm going to push deeper inside you now, Christine," he warned, and then he did. He slid within her wet and ready body inch by slow, steady inch, and she began to whimper. She could feel how huge and hard he was, stretching her, invading her untouched passage, and she was spread open wide under him, completely powerless to resist him, and oh, God, resisting was the last thing she wanted to do! It was the most delicious, exquisite invasion, and he was rubbing her harder, touching her everywhere, inside and out, bringing her closer and closer to climax, stimulating parts of her body that had never been touched before as he slid deeper and deeper and pressed harder and harder and oh, oh, _oh_, the orgasm hit her in waves, she was coming around his huge, hard cock and squeezing him tighter and tighter and she moaned and sobbed, and she could hear his low, agonized groan.

"Oh, Christine, so incredibly tight, I can't take much more of this, I can feel you coming around me, you're like a vice!"

It was a long time before she came back to herself after that orgasm; she could feel aftershocks quivering through her, and after each one, his face contorted with pain.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. You?"

"That was worse than Carlotta's singing I think, I think," he mumbled.

"I… was that… uh…" She cleared her throat. "Am I, uh, not a virgin anymore?"

Erik sighed. "Christine, I'm still not all the way inside you. That's why I was trying so hard not to come, and I succeeded, although it had a marked resemblance to the tortures of the damned."

"Oh," she said weakly. "There's _more_?"

Erik nodded. He looked into her eyes more deeply than ever, and her breath caught. They were chest to chest now; she felt his skin pressed to every inch of hers, her fingers were slipping as they tried to hold onto his broad back, wet with his sweat, her inner thighs ached a bit from being spread so far apart to hold his narrow hips firmly between them, and more strongly than anything else, _oh_, she could feel where their bodies were joined below her waist, that strange, wonderful, utterly intimate feeling she had never known before in her life. She had never imagined she could feel so open, more naked than naked, and her mind could not wrap itself around the idea that she was lying under _Erik _ in his bed, waiting for him to finish taking her virginity, hearing his heartbeat pound strong and steady against the frantic fluttering of her own.

"Hold onto me," he said. "I don't think I can be gentle now. Christine, set your fingernails right in my skin, and dig into me _hard_. Don't hold back. I'll have to hurt you, so I want you to do the same to me." He hesitated. "Are you ready? I suppose I should wait another moment…"

She barely heard him. His last words had been shameful and dark and forbidden, and Christine felt another rush of moisture seep down between her legs, around Erik's cock, and she heard him groan.

"I can't wait anymore," he said in the frightening voice, and then his hands pinned hers down to the bed with so much force that she gasped, arching her back up at him. "I've waited years for this, Christine," he said, and his eyes blazed at her with an intensity that would have been terrifying, except that hers blazed back at him, and she couldn't wait, either. "Years," he repeated, "and now—now—you're _mine_."

"Yours," she hissed, and she dug her fingernails into his back as hard as she could, feeling the skin break.

He groaned savagely, and he drove his hips down, down, down, forcing her thighs even further apart and pressing her lower body down into the mattress. Christine cried out as he penetrated deeper and deeper inside, relentlessly spreading and opening every inch of her to him. The pain deepened too, and tears spilled over her lashes. She felt light touches around her eyes. He was kissing her tears away. A kiss, and then he forced his cock a bit deeper into her; a brush of his mouth over one of her eyelids, and he shoved his hips forward again, hard, wringing a shocked cry of pain from her. A terrible wave of tenderness rolled over her, and she reached up and touched his face just as he reached down to pull her legs up and almost over his shoulders.

"Christine," he murmured. "Oh, Christine. Just one more, just one…" And then she felt one of his hands fumble, the light tap of his fingers on her hips, a tingling, and they were free.

"_Now_," he murmured, and she pushed her hips up at him as hard as she could, just as she felt him thrust into her with all the force he had.

_Pain… pain…_ it splintered between her legs and rushed up through her belly, swift and awful for just a second; the huge invading thing inside her seemed like it was more than what her body could possibly contain; she couldn't take it, she wouldn't be able to do it, and she struggled and wriggled underneath Erik, crying out, but he held her and soothed her, groaning something that sounded like _I'm sorry, oh, Christine, I'm sorry_. And then there was one more powerful thrust and something inside her seemed to break away and dissolve, and she felt his cock finally, finally slide all the way inside her to the hilt, sleekly, snugly, every last inch, until he was balls deep within her and there was no more of him to take.

They both lay still for a few moments, panting for breath. Christine could see herself mirrored in Erik's eyes. Her face was alight with wonder. When she looked at his own face, she saw he looked the same way.

"Wow. We did it," she said.

His mouth curved up in a smile. A real smile, she thought. "Oh, no, Christine," he said. "We've just started."

Tentatively, Christine moved under him, rocking her hips back and forth. He gave a shocked gasp. "Oh." he muttered. "Hold onto me." All of her body was free now, her arms and her legs, her hips, her hands, and she wrapped herself around him in every way she could, and he started to move as well, very slowly. She winced. It did hurt, but there was still that insane desire that needed to be fulfilled, too, and the strange part was that as wonderful as the orgasms had been that he had given her, they hadn't really satisfied it.

"More," she whispered in his ear. "Faster."

His eyes were as dark as onyx, looking into hers. "Trust me, Christine."

She didn't know quite what she was agreeing to, but she nodded, of course, and then she made a weak noise of protest when he moved back from her and got on his knees. When she got a really good look at the length and thickness of him, and then ran over a very quick comparison based on half-naked boys glimpsed in rushed costume changes, older stagehands who hadn't always shut the bathroom doors all the way, and paintings, Christine gulped. _That entire thing actually went into me?_ she thought incredulously. _And there's a lot more to sex that just that, of course… oh dear, how exactly are we going to make this work… but I need it, I need more, I need him!_

Erik reached down and guided just the tip of himself into her., "Trust me," he whispered again. "What I did before was meant to make it a bit easier for you when I took your virginity. But this… this will shape you to _me_, Christine, just to me, to nobody else in the world but me. Do you want that?"

"Yes," she said, because she did.

Then he reached down, put one hand under each of her hips, and slowly pulled her up to him so that his cock slid into her inch by gradual inch as she came towards him. Christine drew in her breath in one long, long inhalation; she was being stretched and widened and there was something about this position that helped her to open to him and it didn't hurt anymore. "Take all of me, Christine," he whispered, and then he pulled her all the way to meet him and she cried out in delight as he filled her completely.

"Ahhhhh," he groaned, and then he pulled her hips this way and that, turned her, moved her, and pushed himself into her repeatedly from different angles, gently at the beginning, then more forcefully and deliberately each time. Christine cried and moaned at each new shock of sensation, and she heard his answering _mmmm, yes, perfect, just right_. Once or twice there was an angle where it just felt like it was too much, he was too big, too hard, but he moved a bit more slowly then and stretched her gently, carefully, ruthlessly, and she sighed and the intense stinging pressure turned into pleasure.

"Are you ready?" Erik finally asked her.

"Yes," said Christine, because he had been gentle for what seemed for a very long time now, and she didn't think she could take any more of that.

"Hope so," he said, "because I can't wait one more fucking _second_." Then he drew himself up on his knees and looked down on her, and she understood the iron self-control it had taken for him to be so gentle with her for so long. "You're mine," he said, "_mine_… and now I'm going to prove it to you, Christine." For the first time in her life, Christine saw the gaze of the predatory, possessive male, and she met it with her own. Erik pulled back, withdrawing from her almost entirely. She whimpered and reached out her arms. He reared forward and pinned her wrists to the bed. Ah, so they were back to _that_ again! Christine arched her back and licked her lips.

"Do you want me to beg you some more, Erik? Because I will. Please, please, _please_ take me—"

"Oh, I will, my beauty. It's time. This," and Erik yanked her up so that she started to slide onto him, "_this_ is what it's like," and he shoved his hips down, sliding into her from the other direction, picking up speed, "to be _taken_ by me, Christine!" And then he slammed his hips against hers, and pulled back, and thrust into her body again, once, twice, three times, over and over and over, and Christine screamed, yes, yes,_yes_! He fell over on top of her and she wrapped her legs around his back completely and oh, _God,_, he was all over her, she was wound around him, hands and arms and legs and every inch of their sweat-slicked bodies sliding against each other, and she sobbed at the indescribable feel of him pulling out, pushing in, almost all the way out and then she would breathe _oh please Erik_ like a prayer and he would slide all the way back into her body again and again and again. They twisted and turned like dolphins, each position better than the last, and each thrust was slippery and endless and the only good reason for it to end was so that he could pull back out and then thrust forward and fill her sumptuously full again.

"So, Erik," she finally asked him, after some indefinable length of time had passed. "Have I been thoroughly taken now?"

He quirked one dark-blond eyebrow at her and propped himself up on one elbow, pausing to catch his breath. "Christine, Christine, Christine. You don't know me very well, do you? Well, never mind." He smiled at her, and she wondered for a moment if it was the sort of smile that Lucifer had worn during his long, long fall from heaven.

"You will," he purred, and then he reached for her, and it all began again.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: However, this fic is going to take Erik, Christine, and some other characters some interesting places two chapters from now. Some surprise guests will show up. I wonder if anybody could predict who they might be… A few clues are dropped in this chapter and the next, but there were actually more clues in the first chapter.

After this, the updates really WILL slow down, because actual plot will be involved. ;)

It was impossible to keep track of time, of course. Time seemed to melt and become fluid and to drip in all directions. But it wasn't long before she and Erik were moving a bit slower, and then a bit slower, and then scarcely at all. The dreamy soft rhythm as they lay next to each other and slowly drifted back and forth like an ebb tide washing along the beach was sensual and lovely. But Christine squirmed like an eel, and felt that she needed something more, somehow.

"Erik?" she said.

"Yes?" He opened his eyes and smiled at her softly, his face angelic.

"Er… um… I was just sort of wondering…"

He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her throat, his lips like the brushes of an angel's wings.

"Well, I was wondering if you could start fucking me really, really hard again. I mean, if you want to."

Christine decided once and for all that Erik decidedly looked _much_ more like a _fallen_ angel.

"Are you joking?" he asked. "Of course I could, and of _course_ I want to! That was almost driving me mad." With a groan of relief, Erik turned her over and drove himself into her with a grunt, raising her hips so that he penetrated her as fully and deeply as possible. After a few thrusts, however, he swore softly and pulled out of her.

"What's wrong?" asked Christine.

"Shite, this is going to be over with _very_ quickly if I keep that up… Here, let's try this… How would you like to be on top, Christine?"

"I think I really like the sound of that," she said, and then he was moving to lie on his back and pulling her so that she was on top of him. Christine had no idea what to do and felt dreadfully awkward, but he adjusted her and whispered instructions, and at last she raised herself on her knees and looked down at him. She raised her eyebrows.

"God, every time I _see_ it like this, I'm amazed all over again that it actually fits inside me… huh… I 've never actually touched it yet, have I?" Christine reached out and ran a fingertip along the length of Erik's erection, tentatively. He let out his breath in a long hiss. She tried to fit the fingers of one hand around the base, but they wouldn't quite stretch. She added another hand and then moved both of them round, squeezing gently. His groan made her drop both hands. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," he said tightly. "Christine, _please_ just give me a moment without touching me, all right?"

She sat back on her heels, feeling stupid. _Maybe I did do something wrong… it's not as if I really know what I'm doing, after all. But he'd tell me if I did, wouldn't he?_

"All right," Erik finally said. "Now here's what I want you to do."

"Have you imagined this too?" she asked.

"Oh, _yes_. Get all the way up on your knees—like that—" Christine obeyed him. "And now take in just the tip," he said. She did. "Now," he said, "come all the way down, very slowly, and take me all the way in, Christine."

Inch by inch, she sank towards him; inch by inch, she moaned as she felt him sink into her from this new angle they hadn't yet tried. Again, it seemed incredible to her that she could really contain all of him; every bit of her was just so _filled_ with him, but she felt herself sitting on his hips and she knew that once again, she had done it.

"Now ride me, Christine," said Erik. She opened her mouth to tell him that she didn't know how, but he had grabbed her hips and was moving her back and forth, up and down that she was sliding in all directions on his cock, and then she was moving on her own because nothing could have stopped her. She had never imagined that sex could be like this, so overwhelming, so consuming, so uncontrollable, but it was and so were the sensations building in her now, so intense, so nearly unbearable that she was sobbing with the force of them.

She held onto Erik and shuddered and wept and pumped her hips against him, and oh God, here it was, the pleasure poured down her body like dark seizing fire and she was coming and coming and _coming_ and it was the most uncontrollable thing she'd ever felt, the sinful pleasure, the ecstasy, the total satisfaction as her orgasm seized her and pulsed around every inch of his cock, he penetrated her top to bottom and she clenched around him like a vice lined with sumptuous wet velvet and it was too much, too much, she couldn't take any more. She collapsed across Erik's chest, shaking, and she felt his lips go up to her throat and the sharp nip of his teeth on her skin where the pulse beat. The world went fuzzy and contracted to a little coloured bead and disappeared.

"Christine! Christine—what the—" The last thing she heard was some quite remarkably creative cursing.

She opened her eyes. Why was it raining? _Oh…_ Erik was crouched over her with a wet washcloth and running it over her forehead, a horrified expression on his face. She sat up. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought—I thought—are you all right? Christine, you've _got_ to tell me you're all right!"

"Of course I'm all right." Christine shook her head to clear it, since it seemed filled with large balls of cotton candy and very little else. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were out for about five minutes. I couldn't wake you no matter what I did. I tried... I thought I had lost you..." Erik looked away from her.

Christine laughed. "Erik, even _I_ know what that was. I've heard of it, anyway, even though I never thought it would actually happen to me. I didn't think it actually happened to anybody; I thought it was just literary exaggeration, but apparently it isn't. _La petit morte,_ you know?" She nudged him. "Come on, in your vast experience, I would think you've caused it a few times. Dozens, maybe."

"Well, I mean- why would I have seen it dozens of times when I haven't even—" Erik shut his mouth. A pink blush was creeping rapidly up his cheek. _Blush Number 345._ Christine automatically added it to the catalogue.

"When you haven't even what?" she asked.

"Never mind!" he snapped.

"No, now you have to tell me." She chucked him playfully under the chin.

"I don't have to do anything!" he snarled. "You just had an amazing orgasm. Isn't that enough?"

"Why on earth are you in such a bad mood?" Christine demanded. Then she looked down and saw that he was still fully, painfully, stiffly erect. At the same time, something dawned on her. _Shouldn't I be feeling a bit more… well… full?_

"Oh, Erik, you didn't come!" she said. "Why on earth not?

"Because… because…" His blush deepened to red.

"That's got to be painful," she said. "I don't really know, of course, but I always heard that it was for men. Let me help you, Erik. Come here… " She spread her legs, and she spread her arms wide, beckoning to him. "Come and finish and get what you need, I can tell that it won't take much longer even though I don't really know about these things… I can tell by the look on your face… I can tell how much you want me, how ready you are. And I _want_ to feel you come inside me. I want to see your face when you do, I want to know what you look like when you feel what I felt. " She spread her legs, and she spread her arms wide, welcoming him. His face contorted into such a look of longing that her heart flew out to him on its own.

_Oh, bad idea, Christine! This is just an amazing fuck, remember? You accidentally drank a potion that made you a slave to wanton hot lust and you're relieving it with Erik Destler and his amazing cock, and that's all there is to it… remember? Don't give your heart where it could never, never be wanted or returned._ Or so common sense tried to tell her, but since common sense was getting remarkably short shrift on that particular day, Christine barely heard a word of it.

"Let me help you, Erik," she repeated. "I don't want to see you feeling pain. I can't stand it," she said simply.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered. Then he began speaking very rapidly, in a low voice. "I'd been holding back for a long time, which was harder than you could ever imagine, it was like some kind of indescribably delicious torture, and I was finally going to let myself go. But the reason I didn't come should be bloody _obvious_! It's because you passed out on me, and you scared me to death. I couldn't revive you no matter what I did. Christine, Christine, I was sure… I was so sure that it was too late, and I was sure that it was all my fault." He grabbed her hands and looked at her miserably.

She drew his head down on her breast and stroked his hair. "I knew," he mumbled. "Gods, I _knew_ what would happen if I gave in, and I did it anyway, I am a completely selfish bastard, no good at all, but I couldn't resist, who could resist you? But what now? Is it too late? It can't be, it can't. It'll be all right. It has to be. It did turn out all right, didn't it?"

She didn't understand anything he was saying, but she felt his desperation, and his fear that was shading into terror. A chill swept through her as she remembered his earlier words. _There are things you don't understand, things from the past, things you don't know about and you should be glad you don't…_

"I'm perfectly all right, Erik," said Christine. _Oh, please let me say the right thing…_ "Now, what was it you weren't going to tell me before?" she asked teasingly. "Something about what you 'hadn't even done'?"

Erik turned his head as she sifted strands of his hair through her fingers. "I shouldn't tell you this. If I was strong enough… if I could only be strong enough… I would not tell you. But I'm not strong enough."

Christine decided that she probably hadn't said the right thing. _But there's no going back now!_ She kept running her hand through his hair. She rubbed his neck soothingly.

"No, I'm not strong enough," he repeated. "So I'm going to tell you. One more step on the road to hell, paved with good intentions… Christine, I certainly know what _le petit morte_ is, and I practiced it to perfection with my initiation-woman when I was twenty two years old at the Shahs Palace in Persia, because the Assassins followed the ancient tradition. Do you know what that is?"

Now it was Christine's turn to blush. "No, no I'm not familiar with it."

"Well, yes, of course you wouldn't be. A boy in training would be taken to the Shahs Harem, the ancient—um—brothel in his palace on his twenty second birthday, and then he'd be tutored on the thin line between pleasure and pain."

"The point is that I learned everything I know over the summer after my fourth year. But after that… from then until now… I haven't practiced it all that much."

"What?" asked Christine in disbelief. "But… everyone you have had so many years before the Opera, was there never anyone? I'm sure women are always throwing themselves at you. Men too, if it comes to that. Or, well, that's what I've heard, anyway."

"Reputations aren't always earned," said Erik. "I have never lain with a woman, you were my first." He cupped her face in his hands. "Whenever I, well, brought myself to pleasure, It was always when I felt so lonely, so alone, that I couldn't bear it any longer… that I wanted, needed something that I could never have, that I knew I never would, and I didn't know why I was torturing myself by waiting, so I didn't wait." One side of his mouth twisted up. "That's where the reputation came from, Christine. The stories would spread, you see."

"I'm sure they did," said Christine. And after being on the receiving end of Erik Destler's skills in bed, she certainly was sure.

"And then Nadir, my dearest friend, would generously ascribe some of his exploits to me. That was a lot of it, actually. But I've never had a sexual encounter that did not include tuition, or torture.," said Erik.

A faint shiver ran down her spine.

"And that's what you didn't want to tell me," said Christine. She looked at him narrowly. There was something more to all this, something that he still hadn't told her, something that tied it all together. She _knew_ it. "When was the last one?" she asked abruptly. "When was the last time you had a release?"

"I might as well tell you, I suppose. Why not… we've got this far." Erik sighed. "It was nearly two years ago."

_Two years!_ Christine was thunderstruck. "Erik, I think that you really, _really_ need to come. Right now. Get over here." She snapped her fingers and pointed between her legs with a stern expression. " Holding it in can't be good for you. It's got to lead to dreadful health problems. Um… oh! I know! How about if we just keep going with those plans you had? What else did you want to do with me that summer when you were thirty four, Erik?"

In the dead silence that followed, Christine wondered how she had ended up scaling never-before-reached new heights of saying the wrong thing. With customary stupid, stubborn bravery, she decided that the only thing to do now—which generally also tended to be the worst possible way to compound the mistake—was to bash on regardless. She wriggled her way underneath Erik, who was sitting with his eyes squeezed tight shut and hopelessly muttering something about _threesome with Carlotta, Firmin, and Madame Giry_, and enthusiastically chirped, "Show me!"

"You—came to me, Christine," said Erik tightly, every muscle shivering, "and all I felt—that summer—all the pain, the misery, the lust, the desire—I unleashed it on you, when you appeared in my rooms, in my bed—"

"Yes, yes, Erik, show me—"

"Oh, _no_, you don't know—"

"Yes, I want to," said Christine. "Now show me, show me what you would have done if I'd come to your rooms then, that summer when I turned seventeen—"

"Shite," Erik whispered. "Why stop now, why now? I might as well be thoroughly damned and get it over with. But I don't want to drag you into it! Because you're good, Christine, really good—"

"Why do you think that?" she scoffed. "Because I was a Seventeen-year-old virgin chorus girl until I gave it up to you half an hour ago?"

"No!" he exploded. "Because you're not like me, Christine! You haven't done the things I've done… "

"I know what you've done. And I still won't let go of you, Erik."

"You don't know it all, you don't know everything. Some things that are done can't be undone." He broke off. His eyes were like silver mirrors looking inward at remembered horror.

"Erik, there are some things I do not know, some things it would probably be better if I never knew, but I do not care. That was the past and this is now. Don't you try and leave me now. I won't let you."

"I've always known that," he said. "But Christine, that's _why_… that's why…" He closed his eyes tightly. "I don't have any right to tell you this," he said in a rush. "But I will. I will. Because I know you'll understand, you're the only one who can! But there's something only I only know. I've known what it is to look a man in the eyes as the last shreds of life flee his body. I've witnessed the massacres of innocents, of children." There was such agony in his face that she could barely stand it. "Terrible things, Christine..."

_I can't understand him,_ Christine realized, _and I don't even know why I can't. But… but when I look into his eyes, all I want to do is to make him stop hurting. My own pain seems to go away, because it's so much less than his._

She drew his face up to hers and leaned their foreheads together. "You've got to get it _out_ of you, Erik, because it's eating you alive. And I won't let it."

"I can't tell you what he told me. I will not make you suffer the way I've suffered by telling you everything I know," Erik said steadily, and she saw the steel in him. "I won't do that to you… There's so much, Christine…I am torn," he whispered, "more torn than you can possibly know."

"All right, so you can't tell me everything." Christine thought frantically. "Maybe you could just tell me some of it. Tell me part of it. Tell me what you can."

"I wonder. Maybe… maybe that really would be all right… it hardly seems possible and I shouldn't hope for it, but I've come this far, haven't I... "

"_We've_ come this far," Christine corrected him.

Erik closed his eyes and leaned into her, and for a moment, she was sure that he wouldn't tell her anything, and she didn't know what to do. "When you were sixteen," he whispered in a frantic rush, "that summer, I could have taken you. I told myself, you would never, never give yourself to me of your own free will. I thought I would have to force you if I wanted you at all. And—and I could think of nothing else, not my music, not anything. The voice in my head, oh that voice, kept talking to me, he wouldn't let me alone, and he kept telling me and telling me that that you would resist me, that you would struggle, that you would cry, that you would beg me not to touch you, that you would try to run away from me, that you would fight me, but that I wouldn't be able to help myself, that I couldn't stop myself, and that I would force myself on you. He told me that I would rape you over and over again and that I would do it because I was evil, bad, wrong, flawed, that I was evil from the cradle… that I could never be anything else."

He scanned Christine's face, his silvery eyes looking more intense than she had ever seen them. She could not shake the strange feeling that he was trying to tell her something more than he was saying with his words, except that he would do anything to hold the secret back from her, so he would never tell her.

"And I believed it, Christine. I'd been a monster, after all, so I believed it, Christine. And I really believed that if you ever came to me, if you were ever in my power, I would take you by force, because I wanted you and needed you with such desperation, and you would never give yourself to me, and I couldn't have you any other way-"

Christine put her arms round his neck and looked up into his beautiful, suffering face.

"That voice in your head, Eric, it must have tormented you endlessly. But it was wrong. You are wrong about yourself. And, Erik—" She bit her lip. _Is this really a good idea?_ If it had _any_ chance of helping him now—"The only way to get rid of that demon is to exorcise it."

"What?"

"Erik, what if we re-enacted what would have happened if I'd been delivered to your rooms during that year, and went all the way through it, so that you could find out both you and I really would have done?"

"Oh, gods!" His eyes filled with horror. "Why would you even think of that, Christine?"

She leaned forward, closer to him. "Because you'll find out that if I'm not willing- if I say no to you at the crucial moment—them you won't do it. You won't force me into anything. Erik, you won't be _able_ to do it, because you're not what you think you are. You're not bad or wrong or evil. You were caught up in bad choices, and almost none of them were your own." She picked up his hand and intertwined it with her own.

"And I fell, didn't I," muttered Erik.

"Maybe you did," Christine said honestly. "But you never fell as far as you thought. And you climbed back up, Erik. You made it out."

"I don't know, Christine." His voice had a weary heaviness. "If I was any good, I wouldn't be—"

"And don't you _dare_ start that 'if-I-wasn't-an-evil-ex-assassin-I-wouldn't-be-fucking-you routine again with me!" said Christine, thumping him on the chest to emphasize her point. She wiped one hand with the other, unconsciously.

"But what if you're wrong, Christine?" asked Erik with some difficulty. "What if we get to that point, and you've become so frightened that you don't want to go through with it?"

"Well, then I'll say no, and you'll stop."

His eyes had become as dark as obsidian. "What if I can't stop?" he asked. "Christine, I feel like I'm going to die if I can't take you right now—so what if I _don't_ stop? "

"You will," Christine said simply.

"I would never forgive myself if I didn't," said Erik, not looking at her.

"That's why I know that you would stop," said Christine. "That's why I know that you're not what that monster told you that you were, Erik."

"All right," said Erik. "That's it. You win. We'll do it. I just…" He studied her. "Christine, am I really strong enough to do this?"

"You're the only one who knows the answer to that," she admitted. "But, yes. Yes, Erik. I think you are."  
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	8. Chapter 8

A/N:  
Okay, after THIS chapter the updates will slow down.

Wow! A lot happens here. And, oh yeah, there really ARE a few clues in this chapter to future events. See if you can catch them. (Anna run offs, doing the Happy Snerky Clues Dance.)

+++

Erik's silvery eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered to a purr. She felt the pleasurable flutter of almost-fear in her stomach again. His words were dark and low and intense, rushing out after each other in a stream.

"It's the end of a long, long day, just after the sun's set in the west, and I'm working my way through the tunnels instead of facing another unbearable sleepless night, and wishing desperately that there was some way out of the horror that was my fate, any way at all. And I suddenly hear the sound of footsteps, and when I turn, I see you, Christine. You've wondered into the passageways and found your way to me. Close your eyes and imagine that. Take a few minutes— and when you open your eyes, you'll see the tunnel. And I want you to behave the way you would have done when you were sixteen years old and thought of me as an angel, Christine. I want… I need every detail of this scenario to be as realistic as possible."

She closed her eyes and imagined. It was the summer after her sixteenth year. La Carlotta was driving everyone at the Opera completely mad with her usual antics. Christine herself was mooning after the lead role and hatching vague plots to burst into song half way through rehearsal and stun the managers into giving her the role of Prima Donna, none of which were working out. It was a miserably dreary day, and she was walking on the opera house roof, wishing that she could finally make something of her life. She was looking up at the cloudless grey sky, humming a song, thinking of nothing, and then suddenly, without warning, she felt herself tumbling through a trap door and into the darkness below. The feeling was real, and it caught her off guard; she tumbled to the floor, panting, and rolled to one side. When she looked up, everything had the dizzying, disoriented feel of a nightmare.

She wasn't in the pleasant, soothing room filled with natural woods and neutral tones anymore. She was on her hands and knees on the stone floor. As Christine crouched on the floor, she felt something begin to seep into her bones. It took her several moments to identify it. At first, she thought it was the bitterly cold air in the room. Even though it was summer, it was _freezing_ in here, and she couldn't understand why, or how why this tunnel was here. But then she saw the motionless figure shift from the shadows, draped in a black cloak, and she knew what it really was that she felt. It was the sorrow and misery in the very air, weighing down the tunnel until it seemed to flatten and distort everything she saw. The figure turned, and she saw that it was Erik. He saw her, as well, and everything that he felt on seeing her suddenly show up in his tunnel slowly spread across his face half hidden by the mask… _his face… wait, wait… something's not right here._

For a moment, she could only stare as the past and the present collided. She was not looking at the Erik she had seen when she closed her eyes. This one couldn't possibly have been more than twenty. She looked down at herself. She looked like the sixteen-year-old Christine, too. Her waist slimmer and breasts less swollen. All she could think was that something had gone wrong, that something had happened which didn't make any sense. This wasn't an illusion. They really _had_ gone back in time.

"You," he breathed. "You… you… you're here. I knew it. I knew that you would come. If I waited long enough, I knew it."

He strode with an expression that made Christine jump up without thinking twice and scramble back until her back hit the wall. He sprang from the shadows like a panther, leaped on her, and tackled her to the floor before she managed to get more than a few steps away.

"You're not getting out of here, Angel," he hissed. He pushed his face down to her, painfully young, marked with suffering that nobody of any age should ever have had to know. "How I waited for you, how I've wanted you, and you've come to me, and now I'll never let you go! So what are you going to do about that?"

_Erik isn't really barely twenty years old,_ Christine realized. _Of course he isn't. It's an illusion. It's all an illusion, no matter how real it seems. But… if this is really going to work, if we're really going to exorcise these demons, then I can't pull any punches here. I have to do what I really would have done that summer if this had actually happened._ And in a flash, Christine knew what would have happened if she had been ripped from the opera and thrown into the lair of this apparent mad man that summer. She knew what she would have done, and even though it was painful to do it now, she knew that she would have to.

"Who are you?" She whimpered.

He laughed, a deep guttural sound that sent shivers through her spine.

"Do you not recognise my voice, Miss Daae?"

She gasped.

"A-angel?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Her only answer was laughter. His warm breath touched her skin, goose bumps erupted under its heat.

"I'll scream!" she threatened

"You can scream your head off and nobody will ever hear you or care. But scream as much as you like, Miss Daae!"

She did. Erik winced, but he didn't pause. "Now fight me, go ahead! Try!"

Christine was already trying, wriggling and scratching and rolling and wrestling in a glorious release of energy; she knew she couldn't possibly win, and the thought was arousing and shameful and dark all at once. He growled at her like a wild animal, and Christine thought she growled back at him although she was never sure, and she was scratching him until she had torn off his robes and left red stripes on the pale skin of his back, and he was wrestling her under him and she was fighting him harder. She was pinned underneath him on the floor and he was shoving her legs apart with a knee, oh, yes, and then he ripped her gown off her, the one she had worn that summer. They weren't real, and they dissolved under his hands.

" I've waited long enough, Daae," he growled. "I have waited and wanted and dreamed of you, and it's been torture. And now you're going to be mine, the way you should be, the way you always should have been. I'm going to make you mine."

Christine took a deep breath, and she said a prayer for him. "Angel, what if I told you no?" she asked softly.

His face changed. The soft, almost childlike lines of his jaw hardened a bit; his cheekbones became more defined, and something in his eyes grew weary and dark, but more peaceful. She saw him put on six years, and become the Erik she knew. Slowly, carefully, he moved away from her. They were back in his real rooms now, she saw, not in the tunnel. He rummaged around the foot of the bed for the ruins of his bathrobe. He handed them to her gravely.

"Then I would let you go, Christine," he said.

"I knew you would," she said. "I knew you'd win through, Erik."

He smiled crookedly.

"I did the right thing," he whispered. "No matter what may happen now, I made the right choice. And I can't believe that it won't be all right—I won't believe that. "

A little chill went through her at those words. They had both won through, so what could be left to overcome now? "Of course everything's going to be all right now, Erik," she said." "So. How about if you just take me really, really hard?"

"Oh, that's the best idea I've _ever_ heard," groaned Erik in relief.

"Actually, I, uh, liked what we were doing before," she said sheepishly. "Could we go back to that sort of thing?"

He looked at her in shock. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she confessed. "Is that awful? I mean, if it's only a game—can't we just _pretend_ that I'm fighting against you? Don't you like that?"

"I _love_ it," Erik confessed, looking shamefaced.

"Oh, so do I!" she said. "Then don't let anyone ruin it for you—for us—all right? No matter what anyone said to you once—this is _ours_ now. So we're back in your room, all right? And this is how it would have been—how it is—how it will be."

Erik's eyes smouldered. Almost before she had finished speaking, he grabbed Christine by the arm and shoved her back to the floor, and with an inward sigh of contentment, she struggled to get up, although not very hard.

"Come on, Christine!" he goaded her. "Is that all you've got?"

"No!" she snarled, wriggling to break free of his grasp. He dragged her back and wrestled her under him; she tried to buck him off her and once or twice nearly succeeded.

"You'll pay for that," he said pleasantly, and then he pinned her to the floor so hard that she gasped. Every inch of him pressed her down, and she moaned at the feel of his massive erection throbbing between her legs.

"Ahhhh. Are you ready to admit defeat?" he purred.

"Are you?" she retorted, spreading her thighs just slightly. She was rewarded with the hiss of his indrawn breath.

"Oh… oh, Christine," he said thickly. "You feel so _ready_… you feel like you want this, like you want me…"

"Oh, I do." She moved her hips up and down. "You have no idea how much. This is what you get when you don't tie me to your bed, Erik." She felt his long, long shaft slide all the way down her wetness.

He pressed his lips to her ear. "Are you willing, Christine?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me? _Me_, Erik Destler, the man with the mask, the opera ghost?"

"Yes."

His voice trembled with hope. "Really?"

"Really."

"Mmmm." His voice dropped an octave. "Well, in that case, Christine Daae… you are going to be completely…" He spread her thighs deliberately and positioned himself at her entrance. "Deliciously…" He cocked an eyebrow at her. "And finally what you might call _thoroughly…_"

"Mmm!" Christine moaned.

"Fucked," he finished.

"Ahhh…" Christine sighed.

"And if you saved yourself for your precious Vicomte," he added, moving forward just slightly, teasing her with the very tip of him, "too damn bad. He'll never have you, he'll never get this from you. Never. I got to you first and I will never give you up now. You're _mine_, Christine. Mine. All mine."

"I—didn't, Erik," she gasped. "I didn't save myself for Raoul. I saved myself for _you_."

Erik groaned intensely, savagely, and the groan turned a gasp at the end, or an invocation, or a prayer, and he forced himself into her _so_ sinfully hard and every invading thrust was so powerful that the entire bed was shaking back and forth where she was pushed into the bottom of the bed frame, but he threw out his arm with every powerful thrust, so that her head was always protected from the hard wood. Christine put her hands up and twined her fingers of one hand with his, pushing back against the bed frame with her other hand as hard as she could so that she could push back to meet every one of his thrusts, and the entire bedroom seemed to waver in and out of focus with each one. Erik was kneeling over her, panting, slamming into her just as hard as she'd wanted him to, harder than ever before, with _so_ much force that she finally understood he'd been holding back something of himself all along, filling her with him so completely, top to bottom, fucking her and fucking her and _fucking _her with that magnificent cock of his as she grabbed onto his perfect arse and wrapped her ankles around his shoulders and took all of him.

"Tell me again—tell me again, Christine—" she heard, as if from a great distance. She shook her head fuzzily. "Come back to me, Christine. Come on. "He pinched one of her nipples. The slight pain seemed to clear her mind a bit, to bring her back to herself, which was a good thing, she thought, because then she could fully appreciate the fact that every bit of her was wrapped around Erik Destler, her legs around him, and his arms around her, and his raven black hair hanging in her eyes, and his fallen angel's face only a few inches from hers, his eyes desperate and pleading.

"Who did you save yourself for, Christine?" he asked.

She raised a hand to his face, smoothing back the lock of hair. "You, Erik," she said. "You."

He drew in his breath, closed his eyes, opened his mouth. He thrust inside her very hard once,twice,three times. Then he opened his eyes again, and seemed to be doing everything he could to focus them. "Christine, I can't hold back, can't, you're _so_ fucking tight, you feel _so_ fucking incredibly good, it's too much, can't take anymore, I've been waiting too long, so long, forever, so I'm coming now, finally, I'm going to come—"

She nodded, still stroking his cheek with her hand. "Yes, Erik, yes," she whispered, "You don't have to wait or hold back. I want to feel it, I want to feel you coming inside me for the first time, now, right now!"

He squeezed her so tightly in his arms that she gasped. Then he pumped his hips forward jerkily, she felt him swell inside her, growing even bigger and bigger, harder and harder, until she thought, _oh, God, I can't do this, I don't think I can contain him, can I really take all of him?_, and then, with a long, long, utterly satisfied sigh, she felt him convulse and break and pulse intensely, over, and over, and over, and over again within her. His body nailed itself to hers, shuddering, his hands grasped at her lower back, and he sighed and swore and sweated and groaned, and moaned, and thrashed from side to side, and arched his back, and moved and rolled and took her with him all over the floor, from one side of the bedroom to the other. _So good, so good, so fucking amazing the best thing ever never never felt anything so good Christine Christine mine all mine everything I ever wanted ever dreamed of ever imagined and more more more mine mine mine oh gods I can't stop coming never anything like this ever Christine Christine Christine_. And as it went on and on and as Erik Destler filled her with himself, Christine found that she had been wrong, and she really could take all there was to take of him.

_Mmm!_ His lips were on her neck, his teeth just grazing the most sensitive skin where her pulse throbbed, and they nicked the skin, and then she felt his tongue licking the spot. Christine shivered and pulled his head down to her breast as he pumped himself into her one last time, murmuring _Christine…_. Then they came to rest on the floor near the end of the bed.

The aftershocks of his climax seemed to go on forever, and even though his weight was pressing on top of her and making it hard for her to breathe, she wished fiercely that they would never stop and that he would never move. She felt the quivers of each one all through her body. Erik shivered each time and mumbled a few words. She couldn't make them out at first, but they seemed to be phrases that turned up at the last word. Towards the end, she finally heard that he was asking short, odd questions.

"Is it you, Christine?" he mumbled.

"Yes," she whispered.

"You're really here?"

"Yes." She shifted under him.

"They're not here?"

_Who the hell are 'they'?_ she wondered. "Uh… no," she said. "Just us, Erik."

"So it's all right?"

"Yes."

Erik smiled. "I knew it would be. Ohhhh… oh, you're so warm." He shivered again. She held him tightly, stroking his brow.

"Oh, oh, _that_ one was really good… I can feel you all around me, Christine, so tight, so perfect, so good…you feel _so_ good…"

He came fully to rest at last, and he shifted his weight off her slightly, turning his head to look her. She bit her lip, feeling strangely shy again, just as she had at the very beginning. It seemed as if he ought to say _something_ now… or she should… or somebody should… didn't it?

"Well, I, uh…it feels good for me too. This is what I wanted so much, to feel something of what you're feeling when you feel what you made me feel… _and that's absolutely the stupidest thing you've ever said, Christine Daae_

She clasped her hands round his neck."I… I mean, I…" What could she possibly say? _Thanks for breaking me in so expertly, Erik, I've never known anyone who could have done the job one-thousandth as well? After seeing you in action, I never would have thought I could accommodate it you whimpering owie, owie, owie, every second, so I appreciate your spending so much time preparing me for you in so many flabbergastingly glorious ways? I have to hand it to you, Erik, your technique is absolutely bloody amazing, so would you like me to write some testimonials for you?_

Christine swiftly discarded that one. It would mean admitting the possibility of other people experiencing the sinfully divine ecstasy that was sex with Erik Destler, which was an activity that could, of course, not exist in this reality or any other. That brought up another thought. _I thought you were an angel, Erik. I pictured you . And I was wrong. But I do not care. I do not care what has happened to you in your past, you have me now and no one will take me away from you. Now if only I could convince you to take off that damned mask..._

Christine wriggled, wondering if Erik needed to come a few more times in order to avoid some sort of dreadfully dangerous explosion or other. She winced. Now that their mutual passion was spent- at least for now—she was starting to feel extremely sore.

"Christine?" Erik asked her softly, his forehead furrowing. "You're probably starting to feel just how sore you really are from all of this. I've got a salve, you know—"

The soreness didn't matter; she wished she could tell him how utterly and completely it didn't matter. "What I was trying to say before was that I love this feeling, Erik," she whispered, knowing that her words were inadequate.

"Mmmm." His lips curved upwards into a smile. "Well, the feeling's mutual, Christine. However… because I really think you'll want to walk again at some point next week… " Very slowly, he pulled out of her and rolled to one side. Christine winced again. A number of aches and pains were definitely making themselves known, but she also felt… empty, and in far more than in just the obvious way. Erik had been, had become, a _part_ of her, and now he had left her. How could she wrap her mind around that?

But then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her very close to him, and she knew that he hadn't left her at all. He kissed her softly, her arms, her neck, her shoulders, the sides of her face, the corners of her lips.

"Thank you," he said.

She smiled self-consciously. "I feel like I should be thanking you."

Erik quirked an eyebrow upwards. "Well, you can if you like, of course. So few people ever have the chance to experience such amazing technique, such astounding staying power, such—"

She hit him with a pillow. As she leaned up to do it, the soreness gathered together and gave her a deep pinch. She bit her lip. He sucked in his breath and looked guilty.

"Oh, _Christine_… did I hurt you? I did, didn't I?"

"It's just a little sore," she mumbled.

"I should've known. I did everything I could to try to prepare you, but… well, come in here, I'll run a bath with arnica essence in it," called Erik, already headed for the bathroom. Christine tried to get off the bed and follow him, but her legs refused to work halfway through.

"I think you're right," she said.

"What?"

"I really _have_ been thoroughly fucked."

Erik gave her a look that was equally torn between concern and sheepish yet insufferable male pride. He sprang off the bed and hurried back with a steaming basin of water and a limp washcloth. Christine fell back to the bed in a remarkable imitation of the latter item. Every bit of the exhaustion of the past weeks seemed to have hit her at once.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "Can't stay awake." Dimly, she felt Erik moving the warm washcloth across her skin. It felt heavenly.

"I should have remembered," said his faint, faraway voice. "It's an after effect of this potion."

"Mmm," said Christine. The washcloth was moving between her legs, gently but firmly and completely, and she thought vaguely that she would have been quite embarrassed by the whole thing if she were in a halfway coherent state. The soreness went away.

"The alchemists told me that was a paradoxical effect she often saw whilst testing it," Erik's extremely faraway voice went on. "The stimulation would wear off quite suddenly,"

Something was wrong, but Christine was in no shape to figure out what it was. "Why… why would they have told you about the potion Erik?"

Erik was both silent and motionless for a moment. Then he drew a coverlet up over Christine and tucked her in. "Time to go to sleep, Christine."

"But I don't understand. What—"

"Hush, little Christine, don't say a word, Erik's going to buy you a mockingbird… although why anyone would want that, I don't know…"

Sleep was rolling in softly, delicious, refreshing sleep. Still, Christine tried to make one last feeble protest. "But, Erik, why—"

"And if that mockingbird won't sing, Erik's going to buy you a diamond ring…"

"But, Erik…" Christine said in a tiny, drowsy voice. "Doesn't make any sense…"

He slipped into bed next to her, under the coverlet, and took her securely in his arms. "Shhh," he whispered to her. "Go to sleep, Christine, and think of all the diamond rings I'll give you if you want them. Anything you want, if I have it, if I can get it, it's yours. Even…"

She smiled blissfully. Those were the last words she heard. She slipped her arms up round his neck. But she had already fallen asleep, and she didn't notice. Erik's eyes remained open a bit longer, and he stared into the darkness.

"Even… no," he whispered. "No!" He looked down at Christine, horror in his eyes, and then cast a quick, terrified glance around the room. Everything was still and silent, and slowly, his breathing returned to normal. "Caught in my own trap… Oh, Christine, Christine!" He ran his hand along her cheek, his fingers as gentle as the feathers of an angel's wing, and sighed. "I hope I'm not such a completely selfish monster as I think I am. It's got to be all right. I'd know by now if it wasn't… wouldn't I? Surely I'd know. I have no right to use you to keep me safe, and to keep me warm, do I? But still, I do. I do." And then he laid his head down on the same pillow as hers, and his breathing became slow and deep and even as he slipped into dreams.

Someone was crying out in fear. Christine blinked and sat up, turning her head from side to side, trying to figure out what on earth was happening. At first, she had no idea where she was, except that she certainly wasn't the dormitory she shared with Meg. The bed felt huge and cushy with sumptuous pillows, and it was completely dark; she never slept without a candle of some kind. And… she reached out a hand and encountered a body that was decidedly male. Slender but very well-muscled. And in the same bed. _That_ definitely wasn't a normal occurrence.

"Are they here?" the voice cried out. "_Are they_?" Hands grabbed at her in the darkness, large, lanky hands with long fingers. "Oh, gods, please, no, they can't be!"

"It's all right, it's all right," Christine said meaninglessly, her mind whirling, still not sure where she was or who was with her, and as she stumbled across the bed, her own hands reached out, and she grabbed at something solid. _A candle!_ She breathed a sigh of relief. It was something solid, something real, and she pulled a pack of matches from the bedside table and lit the wick. A soft orange light blossomed across the bed. The hands were still grabbing at her.

"There! There! In the shadows…" One hand pointed at the open door of a closet. "They're hiding in the shadows, aren't they, I can tell, make them go away, make them go away!"

"I will. I'll make them go away. I promise, I promise, I will," said Christine, taking him in her arms, rocking him back and forth, feeling the warm solid male body, breathing in the delicious scent, like mixed chocolate and musk, stroking the slippery weighty hair, and halfway through, memory came back to her all at once. She was in Erik Destler's bed, of course, and she had fallen asleep there, after… she blushed just slightly… after God-only-knew-how-long spent in absolutely astonishing sex with him. The little part of her that Madame Giry had managed to influence scolded her for throwing away her maiden hood. However would she get a good husband now? But there was something more important to contemplate. Something had gone wrong. Her sleep-befuddled brain couldn't piece together what it was, but Erik was holding onto her and shaking with fear.

"There's nothing in the closet," Christine said soothingly. "See, I'll prove it to you." She started to get out of bed, but his hands clamped down on her wrists like iron bands.

"Don't go over there!" he burst out. "Don't you dare, Christine!" He raised his head and spoke to the shadows. "Take me, why don't you? Do anything you like with me. But leave her alone. She's got nothing to do with this."

"Nobody's there, Erik," said Christine said. "There's nothing to be afraid of." But she could hear her own voice shaking. There was something contagious about his fear. She drew his head down onto her breast and averted her eyes from the closet. "Erik, you've got to wake up. Come on." She kissed his shoulder, raised his chin to look at her, stroked the hair back from his forehead. He looked at her blankly.

"They have no right to be here now, no right to come here now," he said. "He let her die and him as well. He swore he wouldn't, he swore he'd got the power to keep it from happening and…" His face crumpled. "He did nothing to save her. The bargain's off! Everyone got something out of it, all right—everyone but me. Oh, gods, I lost everything, and I won't lose myself too."

Christine's head was swimming round and round. Nothing had ever seemed so unreal as the dark, shadowy bedroom, the awful silence, the hour in the very middle of the night, and Erik, huddling in her arms but unable to hear her or to see her or to take any of the comfort she offered him, endlessly trapped in the horror of his own nightmares. She caught at the only solid fact she could think of.

"Erik, who died, a woman, and a man. Who were they?"

"Mother. Mother. And my father as well, but _Mother_… I lost her. She went away… she never came back… " He closed his eyes, and his arms went round Christine. He seemed to take a bit of comfort from her at last. "You're here," he whispered. "Nobody is ever here, when I wake in the middle of the night and I think they're in the shadows. But you're here now, Christine. You're here to keep me warm."

"Yes, I'm here," Christine whispered back. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "It really seems warm enough in here, Erik. There are too many blankets, if anything." She hesitated. She was silent for a long time. "I'll always be here, if you want me," she finally said, but Erik was asleep by then. She lay back down next to him, extinguishing the candles light. The eerie orange shadows were worse than the complete darkness, although she found that she was starting to imagine figures in the closet now as well. She sighed, her arm round Erik, listening to his soft breathing.

_God, is this true, or is it just Erik's nightmares? Could it be true? Yes, I suppose it could._ She knew so little of his life before, he had never mentioned it and she had been too shy to ask. Oh what sort of life has this poor man led? Shunned utterly for his deformity, convinced of his own corrupt soul. An awful pang of pain swept through her. She couldn't hold him more tightly because she would wake him up if she did, she knew. She looked down on him; a single ray of candle light flickered across him, and his face was dim and silvery and troubled even in sleep. She pushed a strand of silver hair back from his forehead, pouring fierceness into her gentle touch, and a determination to protect him. She realized that would do anything she could to make him happy.

_I 'm an idiot, and I'm going to end up making myself really, really miserable,_ she thought glumly. _Yes, Erik Destler was obsessed with me for years, and yes, we just did have amazing sex, and yes, the cherry on top—so to speak—is that he'd always hoped he could get to me first so that I'd be a virgin for him, and I was. So he got exactly what he wanted. But what if now he had what he wanted from me, who knows if he's even going to want to eat breakfast with me tomorrow morning? I might wake up to find that he's already gone and there's some stupid note on the table telling me that he had a lovely time, and I can find my way back to my rooms on my own, _Christine felt an awful pang of guilt for her own selfishness. Here she was, worrying about whether or not Erik would want to sleep with her again, and minor details such as both of his parents having horribly died a few years back had completely slipped her mind.

_So anyway, it certainly could be true. _Christine shuddered involuntarily.

There was still something that nagged at her, and she didn't realize what it was until she was slipping back into sleep, and it was too late to even try to figure it out.

_Who is Erik so afraid of? He seems invincible, certainly no one could know he is here. Could they be shadows from his past life? _

"Who are they?"

Then Christine fell asleep, not even realizing that she had spoken aloud.

"The cold ones," mumbled Erik, not realizing that he had answered her. Then he fell asleep as well


End file.
